Salvation
by Rana Kane
Summary: An expanded and embellished version of Michael Reaves' unproduced screenplay of the final episode, "Requiem."
1. Prologue 00 Alea Iacta Est

**SALVATION**

_by_

_Rana Kane_

* * *

**Part One — The Empyreal Tower**

**The time has come for change in the Realm, and the stage is set for the Young Ones' final act in the battle between Good and Evil. Dungeon Master will set into motion a chain of events - the outcome of which, even he cannot be certain - when he sends his pupils to the Empyreal Tower at Realm's Edge to release an ancient prisoner whom he claims is the key to their freedom.**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**Alea Iacta Est**

Venger stood alone, looking out across the roving red sands of The Desolate, a vast desert where nothing and no one, mortal or immortal, had ever dwelt. Only the rolling and whirling sands lent any semblance of life to this region of the Realm. He lifted his face to the last two setting suns, their dispassionate gaze looking down upon him through the fiery heavens. Blustering winds buffeted his body and rippled his robes. A storm approached, massive and brutal, a storm of storms that would transform the desert landscape from one formless mass into another.

_True Chaos_, he thought. _Ever-changing, yet never-changing._

He brooded. The coming storm felt to him too symbolic to be coincidental, and he wondered if he had not, unwittingly, created it himself. Or had the turmoil of his thoughts simply driven him to seek its like here, on the fringes of the Realm? Whichever the case, he preferred to witness it alone. For once, he was in no mood for confrontation. If there was one thing he desired at this moment, it was solitude.

"You disturb me, old man," he said.

Dungeon Master ignored this as he emerged from behind Venger's towering form to stand at his side. His long white hair whipped about his face as he, too, watched the storm's approach. He let their silence linger as they shared the view.

"You feel it as I do. Our time grows short," he said at length, his voice barely heard over the winds.

The Desolate roared its reproval of its trespassers and violently pitched more and more sand into the air as though it fought to purge itself. The wailing, sand-filled winds were powerful enough to scour flesh from bone. It would have no such victory over these two, however, who remained unscathed by the elemental force.

"_Your _time, perhaps."

"You are not long for the Realm either, Venger. A new age is at hand, and soon you and I will pass into memory. You would do well to accept this, and the truth that this realm of dungeons and dragons will never be yours."

"It _will_ be mine! It is inevitable," Venger said with finality.

Dungeon Master looked up with a reproachful eye. "You are wrong. It is not."

"I will see you destroyed yet! _That_, I know," said Venger, looking down at his small yet powerful adversary.

"Do not presume to know the future, Venger. Not even your own."

Venger was unmoved. "You still believe your Young Ones will defeat me?"

"They are not so young anymore," said Dungeon Master, turning his attention back to the tempest. Crimson cyclones spun into being and bore down on the pair to no avail.

"Nor are they as pure of heart as when you first brought them here. They will fail you — your expendable champions — as have all those before them. You have allowed those of this world and others to suffer for your failings, to die for your mistakes. Fierce warriors, noble knights, innocent children. And you, the sole author of the destruction of all. Dare you deny it?"

As Dungeon Master held his silence, a smile crept onto Venger's face.

"You could end it now," said Venger, assuming a gracious air. "_I_ can help you.

"End your misguidance of those you force to trust their very souls to your accursed keeping. You _cannot_ destroy me. Waste no more lives in your futile attempts. You have ruled long and have earned your eternal rest. Concede the Realm to me, old one, and be free."

Dungeon Master sighed, bowing and shaking his head. "There is much you do not yet understand."

Venger whirled on him. "_You_ are the one who lacks understanding! You have failed! The end you see is yours and yours alone! _I_ will make it so!"

"It is not over yet," the other said, opening his hand to reveal a blue-jeweled ring which he proffered to Venger.

Venger looked down upon it with a faint mix of trepidation and suspicion in his eyes.

"Please take it," Dungeon Master urged.

After a long moment, the ring became bathed in a soft glow and floated up to Venger's hand. He promptly enclosed it in a fist. "Why give this to me?"

"Because it is yours," answered Dungeon Master staidly. "Do with it as you please. It does not please me to retain it any longer." And with that, he departed, vanishing in a blood-red wall of sand.

Alone again, Venger felt the storm quicken with a rage to match his own. He tightened his grip upon the ring, felt its edges crushing into his palm. He wished he had not accepted it, realizing that it only added to the impotent anger welled within him. After thousands of years, all he could ever remember feeling was the familiar and intense hatred — as though it were locked into his being, as though he were made of it. And it was tiresome. Even the ecstatic fervor his ruinous powers gave him had become much dulled over the centuries.

He wondered if the old fool could be right — that their lives were indeed coming to an end, that they may even die together. And he wondered at what he himself had accomplished. Much, certainly, but to what end? It was painful to acknowledge that he was really no closer now to mastering the Realm than he had ever been.

Returning his attention to the ring, he brought before his eyes the fist that held it, clenching it tighter still. Any other ring would have been reduced to mangled metal under such force — any other save one, he reminded himself.

_Kareena. . . ._

It had been so simple, too easy a defeat.

_"Throw the rings at him!"_ he recalled his sister's words, spoken to the Thief.

The Ring of the Heart and the Ring of the Mind had come together and affected each of them. Kareena, freed of the evil influence that she had so long ago allowed to corrupt her heart, and he, flung into a hellish dimension, losing his form and becoming trapped within the dark confines of his own mind — an experience that still had not left him. He could not yet fully dispel the mocking voices of enemies long dead, the visions of past defeats, nor the fear of the price of failure in his service to his master. And amid the unrelenting phantasmagoria had been the constant taunts of Dungeon Master's smug young pupils as Tiamat chased and attacked him.

Dungeons within dungeons. A prison of prisons.

He had simply been unprepared, surprised by his sister's unexpected freedom from The Hills of Never, he told himself. He would not be caught unawares again.

As if to prove this to himself, he opened his hand and defiantly gazed into the eyes of the face inlaid on the powerful and ancient blue gem of the Ring of the Mind.

And then his mind, willingly or not, left the desert behind.

_The bluest ocean, the calmest waters, and so serene the sky! His essence a part of it. A drop of water in the ocean, no bigger and no more or less important than the next. All intimately connected by an energy — a force, a life-force — shared amongst all. Patterns in the sky, in the clouds, in the water, on the ocean floor. Some touching everything at once, others remaining within one plane. Patterns within patterns interwoven and connected by their shared force. Cycles joined the mosaic, brought in on a wind, it seemed. Now everything began to come into focus in earnest. In the grand design, there was purpose to all: night, day, season; time, matter, dimension; life, death, rebirth. . . ._

He felt as though he were on the brink of a monumental understanding when a static bolt from the desert storm shot through his body. Painless, of course, but enough to break the ring's hold. The elusive understanding was now gone. All of it. He was left feeling displaced, more as though his mind had been assaulted, violated, and, ultimately, denied insight. The whole of his being welled with volcanic fury.

_"_Enough!" Channeling all into familiar hatred, he cast the Ring of the Mind into the desert, which accepted it more quickly than had he. With a final blue-tinged glimmer, it was gone.

For a moment he stared after it, knowing that where it had landed was by no means a final resting place in the ever-shifting sands.

He turned to leave then, but something inside him forced him to stop. He tensed and shivered. Seconds later, he found himself hurrying to reclaim his ring from The Desolate. His feet sank with every step until he fell to his knees and clawed the sand in frantic search. His fingers sifted and his eyes sought the tiniest glint. His chest heaved and his face twisted in anguish as he raked heated sands that could boil mortal blood.

When he finally touched hot metal, he froze, not wanting to cause it to sink deeper. But with one quick movement, he had it. Now his hunched body went limp. He watched his hands come together as if they moved with a will all their own. They quivered ever so slightly as the ring slid into place on his finger — a perfect fit, as it had always been.

Venger straightened the top half of his body and sat back on folded legs. His face now an unrevealing mask, as though he meant to erase his unguarded eruption of emotion. Yet, he could not keep his gaze from falling upon his ringed finger.

And there he remained, even as the ferocious storm swallowed him and sand collected around his dress, absently turning the ring around his finger as he once again became lost in thought.

* * *

Dungeon Master kept secret vigil over the Force of Evil from a discreet distance. Solemnly, he stood with his face drawn, shoulders sagged, and arms limp at his sides. It was not easy to hold the illusion of strength and wisdom, for he lacked both. For all he had spoken to Venger of the future, he knew no more than he. The Realm was entering a dark time in which much was shrouded to them. For all the hope and help he had given others over the centuries, faith was something he himself could not easily believe in, yet he had little else.

He wavered. Retrieving the Ring of the Mind from the Void had been more fatiguing than he had believed it would be. Far more. But it was a risk he had had to take. Venger feared the unknowable future. Now, more than ever, he needed the one thing he had never possessed: clarity. And Dungeon Master could only hope that Venger was capable of possessing it, that the corruption did not run so deep. Over the millennia, there had been occasions when Evil's façade had given way and. . . .

The tears came again, as they had more and more often in these last years, and Dungeon Master closed his eyes. He hoped the ring might still be useful — in what way, he was not sure — but feared he may not live to see the day. . . .

_My rest, when it comes — and it will be soon now — does not deserve to be a peaceful one for all the suffering I have wrought._ He bowed his head in shame.

"Yes, many have suffered. But none so much as you, my son. . . . And now the die is cast . . . and we are all adrift."


	2. Chapter 01 To Render The Will

**CHAPTER ONE**

**To Render The Will**

The empty mug struck the bar with the force of a hammer, causing the landlord to throw a weary glance, first at the thankfully sturdy mug, and then at the woman, slouched on her stool, who held it.

"Let's have another, Leru," she said, tossing a coin beside the mug.

He pointedly ignored her. Instead, he continued his cleaning, and then barred his door for the night, hoping she'd take the hint.

She had been lodging in his tavern since she had first come into town, and had spent every single night thereafter in his bar. Drunk through the nights and asleep through the days, she rarely left the place. And it had become nightly routine to have to usher her up to bed so he could turn in himself.

But to be fair, he liked her. The men liked her. She was good for business. These things he couldn't deny. And if not for her, he reminded himself, he may not even have a business anymore. Or much else, for that matter.

It had been only her second night in his pub, he remembered, when three thugs had burst in and threatened to burn the place to the ground unless he hand over his son, whom they claimed had stolen from them. They searched the place, but thankfully, his son hadn't been there that night. When he could tell them nothing, they made personal threats against him before finally leaving with the promise of their return.

The incident all but cleared his tavern that night. And the next night hardly saw the usual crowd. But she had returned, and when the pub cleared out that night, she had approached him.

"You should have this," she said as she handed him a crude dagger. "Or your son should. I do believe it was meant for him."

Leru recognized the weapon as the one the largest of the three brutes had viciously waived in his face the previous night.

Smiling eyes met his incredulous stare, and he understood. They would not be coming back. Ever.

He looked her over, as though for the first time. He had not at first taken her for one of such violence, but now, yes, after giving her a more careful look, he could see the truth of it.

"I don't know how to thank you. I can pay you only very little. What I have is—"

"You can start with a drink," she interrupted as she made herself comfortable at the bar, "but there is something you can do for me in return." She motioned him closer and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "I want you to keep something for me."

After that night, she had become something of a fixture in his establishment . . . as had something else. Since then, she'd claimed her own particular seat at the bar, and woe be to the one who didn't give it up when she walked in. Leru knew the reason for this, and he would placate her. He owed her. He'd simply taken to removing that stool during the day, and kicking it into place when she came in in the evening. So far, it hadn't caused any problems. Most didn't raise the issue. A mug on the house would normally quiet anyone who had something to say about it.

He looked at her now, as he worked his way over to her, clearing dirty mugs from the bar. He knew a defeated soul when he saw one. All the carousal and revelry to be found in a mug couldn't hide it from eyes wizened from years of tending bar. Each night she seemed more colorless than the last, as if she would soon fade from view altogether.

She looked up and smiled expectantly as he came nearer, but her smile became a frown when he simply took her mug and dropped it in with the rest of his wash. He took a damp rag from where it was slung over his shoulder and wiped the space in front of her, pushing her coin back toward her.

Her questioning look lasted only a second before she nodded with understanding. "Here again, are we?"

He knew what she meant. This, indeed, was routine. Tiresome routine. Leru balled his rag, tossed it onto the bar between them, and leaned forward on both his hairy arms, giving her the look he usually reserved for those moments when his daughters were unruly.

She instantly straightened, and their eyes met — hers surprisingly clear, he noticed, for all the ale she had put away that night.

"What are you doing here, Donnie?"

She appeared confused at first. Then a wry smile crept onto her face, and soon she laughed out loud, obviously drunk despite the illusory clarity in her eyes. "What are any of us doing here? The damned, the righteous, the cursed, the blessed? As for me?" She leaned closer to him as if to share a profound secret. "I'm Fate's bitch, and Fate is not yet finished fucking me."

"None of that, now," he said, as stern as before.

She settled back into her slouch and sighed. "Oh, Leru. . . ."

"'Oh, Leru' nothing! Look at you, girl, wastin' your nights in here with the scum that walks in off the streets." He lowered his voice. "Somethin' happened to you out there, and it's no business of mine to know what," he quickly added, "but it's no reason to drink your sense away."

She shook her head. "Enough, my friend. You don't know what I've—"

"No, I'll not stop. You listen to old Leru," he said, pointing a finger at himself. "You're too young to have give it up already. You lose your way, you get out and find another. I've seen too many lost souls wastin' away in here. Don't be one of them, Donnova."

He realized he hadn't used, or even heard, her real name since that night she had brought him the dead man's blade. It had fondly been "Donnie" ever since. He could tell it had gotten her attention.

"I'm not so young," she said.

"But not so old that you can't fight another day," he said, shaking a fist in the air. "And you are a fighter. But you're fightin' yourself, and let me tell you, you've picked the wrong fight.

"Your life's out there. It's not here, not in the bottom of an ale. You were meant for better things, Donnie, and don't you deny it. I've seen the proof!"

The woman sat, saying nothing.

Leru watched her closely, wondering if he was getting through. He didn't want to go on. To say more would surely be overstepping a boundary, he felt. And then there were things he couldn't bring himself to say. He had hoped she would find her own way in time, but he had long realized she simply wasn't looking. Old men could be content to drink themselves into oblivion, he decided, but not his Donnie, not anymore. He couldn't let her go on this way.

As he watched her, he started to regret having said anything at all. What place did he have to be lecturing her on how to live her life? He suddenly felt frozen in a moment that would not progress until the living statue before him deigned to move. He was beginning to think another drink wasn't a bad idea after all.

"Don't look at me like that," she said softly, and then with some annoyance, added, "And don't say such things about me. I'm no heroine, Leru. I am many things . . . but a heroine _I am not!_"

Leru didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing, only hung his head.

"I know what this is about," she said. "And believe me, I dread it more than you ever could." She paused and sighed. "Damned tether . . . holding me in this world . . . a way for the old man to control me, damn him!"

Then she was quiet, and he saw the inner struggle within her eyes, as if she was trying to make a momentous decision.

"Give it to me," she said at last, startling him. "Give it to me so that I can avenge myself upon the fiend!"

"Now, Donnie—"

"Just . . . give it to me. That's what you want, isn't it? To be free of it? You have an idea now of how it feels, don't you? How it feels to be bound to such a thing and finding no peace with it!"

He of course knew what it was she spoke of. The thought of the thing, and of whom she claimed had given it to her, had haunted him his every day and night. He paled at her request for it now, but was hopeful at the thought of being relieved of it.

But it was not that he felt bound to it. He felt no connection to it as she described. He'd kept it for her out of a sense of obligation. Hearing her speak of it like this made much sense against what he'd come to know of her quirks and habits.

After knowing her as long as he had, he was amazed at how little he'd really known her. Part of him wanted to pity her, but he found he felt more guilt than pity. It was a feeling like not realizing the signs that someone you love was as sick as she truly was until it was too late.

He looked at her, thinking of his poor wife who'd died so young so long ago. He thought of their children, and of how Donnie had come to be like another daughter to him. As obstinate as any of them, but then, he'd raised them all to be of strong will. Without his gentle wife's guiding hand, he'd had to prepare them for the cruelties of the world the best way a father could.

He felt that all he had done for Donnie was hold her back as he allowed her to hide from the world. He had to make her whole again. He would give it back to her, as she'd asked. It was time she reclaimed her property.

He knelt and worked to remove the two floorboards where he had been standing. Then he reached inside a secret space and brought out a long wooden box from within.

As he rose to set it on the bar in front of her, his eyes came level with bloody fingers that wiped a bloody key with his dirty rag. His grip nearly faltered at the sight, but he managed to set the box carefully atop the bar before backing away.

Her attention fixed on the case. She inserted the key into the lock and turned it. Leru flinched at the click of the lock's release, in spite of himself.

She laid her pale hands on the box and let them rest there a moment before looking up at him. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath until their eyes met. He tried to read the expression on her drawn face. Was she looking for encouragement, or waiting for him to suggest it be hidden away again? He couldn't decide. But then she cast her eyes back down and, without haste, opened it.

Leru peered inside. Firelight danced along the blade of a sword that looked as if it had only recently been crafted and polished. He knew enough, at least, to know this was not the case. He silently willed her to take it, for he had never felt right or comfortable with such a thing in his care.

She reached to take it up, but stayed her hand, letting it hover a moment over its golden hilt. Finally, she removed it from the case and stood. She stepped away from the bar and held it out, tip pointing to the ceiling. It came to life with a shimmering glow.

Leru looked on in awe. "For one to be given such a grand thing . . . there must be purpose," he said in a soft, reverent voice. "You have a destiny, my girl."

"Not my own, I fear," she said with antipathy. Then she sighed, tilting her head as she regarded the blade. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've tried to rid myself of this . . . _thing_," she said in disgust. "I've tossed it from cliffs, thrown it into rivers, weighted it into quicksand, but after a time, it always returns. Blessing or curse, it is a part of me." She looked back at him. "I needed one to take it from me. It was the only way. I knew that as long as it was in your keeping, it could not haunt me."

But it had haunted her still, he realized. And he remembered then that she had made him take it from her. She had not handed it to him.

It was a part of her, she'd said. Yes, this was why she couldn't leave. This was why she would sit so closely to where it was hidden. As much as she claimed that she wanted to be rid of it, it seemed she could not bear to be wholly without it. A tether, indeed, he thought.

She lowered the sword, and its glow faded. "I'm sorry, my friend. I placed a great burden upon you these long months. One you never deserved. You've done me a service beyond favor, and I thank you for that."

He shook his head. "I've done you no service, Donnie. No service at all."

"You gave me refuge."

But he couldn't see that as having helped her. He opened his mouth to say so, but she spoke first.

"_When I needed it_," she added, obviously anticipating him.

Leru nodded. "S'pose I did," he said quietly.

"I roamed this realm until my feet were sore and my soul was empty. I was defeated and weary. I'd given up on finding a way home. It may be that there is no way home for me. But you're right. I can't stop looking. I have no place here."

"You do have—"

"No . . . no," she said, shaking her head. "No place." She took the scabbard from the case and sheathed the sword. A small smile played on her lips at the ringing of it against the sputcheon. He smiled with her.

She drew in a long breath and looked around. "It _is_ late, isn't it?"

He understood, and nodded with knowing eyes. After a slight hesitation, she nodded back, and then headed for the door.

Leru stepped out from behind the bar and started to say something, but she had already let herself out. What was there left to say? He simply barred the door again and placed a hand against it. Something told him he'd never see her again. He hoped he was wrong. He felt as though he were losing a daughter, and from his heart, he wished her peace on her journey.

Then, in honor of so many other nights of conversation and laughter, he smiled at the empty room and quietly said, "Oh, get out of here, Donnie, and let an old man to bed."

* * *

From behind her, she heard Leru replace the bar at the door, and an all too familiar feeling filled her. She knew she had just seen him for the last time.

"Goodbye, my friend." A whisper in the night. Wasn't that what most of her friends were now? she thought.

She looked down to see a man sitting slouched against the wall. She guessed he was asleep under the hood that covered his head, probably passed out from too much ale. Without Leru's intervention tonight, she thought, she might have done the same.

She breathed deeply of the cool night air before strapping the scabbard onto her back, a task which her hands quickly accomplished on their own from remembered habit. The moons were high and bright, giving plenty of light by which to travel. She picked a direction and started walking.

She had made it just beyond the edge of the town when she stopped and looked back. She had spent more time here than almost anywhere else in the Realm. Hadn't it grown on her at all? Her eyes moved from house to barn to shop, and she pondered the detachment she already felt, the ease with which she could slip away into the night. Everything so distant so quickly. It had already become part of her past, as if stepping beyond the boundary of this place were stepping into a new era of her life. It all seemed so remote that she could imagine herself already forgotten, even by Leru.

"Forget me quickly. It's better that way," she said to everyone yet no one, and turned her back to all that had become familiar to her.

She had only taken a few steps when she saw something move beyond the brush ahead of her. Instinctively, she froze, but she was fully exposed by the moonlight and there was no cover here. Without sound, it came closer, becoming a familiar shape in the shadows. That familiarity was not comforting, however, and she cursed herself for her sluggish mind. She had almost reached her sword when recognition hit like a blow to the head.

"Oh, no. No, no, _no_," she moaned. She rubbed her eyes and stumbled backwards, as much from too much drink as from the added weight on her back that had not yet become as familiar as it once had been. But when she reopened her eyes, it was still there. _He_ was still there.

"So, I take it you're not a drunken illusion, after all," she said.

He shook his head.

"Dungeon Master. . . . I told you I never wanted to see you again," she said, trying to keep her eyes focused on him. But then something occurred to her. "No. I change my mind. It's good you're here." She drew the sword out. "You must take this back. I never want to see it again. Take it! You're the one who gave it to me. You're the only one who can take it back!"

Dungeon Master shook his head again.

"Take it back, damn you!" She plunged the sword into the ground at his feet, but he did not move.

She watched him as she backed away, struggling to keep her balance, until she felt she'd put enough distance between them. Then she turned, intent on leaving both Dungeon Master and the sword far behind, but there he was again, the sword in the ground in front of him. She looked back where he had been, and then to where he was now.

"Why do you vex me? You have the sword, now leave me in peace! I told you never to appear to me again unless. . . ."

_Unless you come to show me the way home,_ she remembered.

He nodded, as though he'd read her mind, and she visibly calmed.

Now she eyed him suspiciously. "Your timing is remarkable," she said in an acerbic tone. "One might think you've been watching me, waiting all this time for me to decide I was willing to try one last time.

"And I take it that your presence here now is your way of letting me know I have no chance of getting home on my own. I suppose I need you. And you like that, don't you?"

She watched him, but no answer was forthcoming. Letting out a long breath, she rubbed an aching temple and let herself slump to the ground, cross-legged. She smoothed her hands over her face to try to wipe away her lingering stupor, as well as a few errant strands of her long hair.

Then she looked up again, hoping he simply wouldn't be there. Like she had dreamed it, after all. But there he remained, waiting patiently, unobtrusively, with that patronizing smile on his wrinkled face.

She stared at him, weighing possibilities she knew didn't exist. She knew she couldn't win this. Not now, probably not ever. What was he? What were his limits? What was his weakness? Could he be defeated?

But then she heard Leru's voice in her mind, yelling at her to stop picking fights with the largest men in his place, threatening to cut her off and make her clean up the entire tavern if she didn't want to be kicked out for causing trouble.

But this wasn't a letting-off of some fortunate soul; it was her own surrender, and her only choice at the moment.

"Right. Let's have it, then," she said, feeling the familiar sense of defeat once more. She sighed. "Riddles and all."


	3. Chapter 02 Paths Cross

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Paths Cross**

"OK, Diana, I almost got it. Just tell me one more time how you knew which one was telling the truth."

Hank listened in on Bobby and Diana's conversation. Bobby was obviously still puzzling over the predicament of the two trolls they had encountered earlier at The Crossroads. One could speak only truths; the other, only lies. Only one question had been allowed, and Diana had been the one to figure out what to ask to discover the true path to Edonlea Village.

"I _didn't_ know, Bobby. I didn't _have_ to," she explained as they walked. "It didn't matter which one I asked, as long as I asked what the other would answer."

"Oh, yeah. Right," said Bobby uncertainly. The little unicorn trotting at his side echoed him, but in a more confident tone that implied she understood perfectly. And perhaps she did.

Hank wanted to smile, but couldn't. Today, more than usual, he was feeling depressed, frustrated, and a little bit angry. Diana shouldn't have to be solving a mind-bender so they don't end up lost or dead. And Bobby shouldn't have had to be exposed to those disgusting trolls! None of them should be going through any of this!

He thought of the years they had spent in the Realm, of the strange encounters with even stranger beings than the trolls that had become as commonplace as the four suns and the three moons. There were always obstacles of one sort or another, and many were overcome by the solving of a riddle — Dungeon Master's riddles, most of all. As many times as their hopes had been crushed, he held to the hope that one day the right answer to the right riddle would get them home, and to the belief that Dungeon Master was their best chance of escaping the Realm.

It was his faith in that belief that kept him going, and it was Dungeon Master who sent them on their present journey to meet him at the Rocks of Resonance beyond Edonlea. While they didn't yet know their way to the Rocks themselves, Dungeon Master had spoken of one in the village who may help them. And, naturally, Eric had been quick to pick up on the word "may." As he walked, Hank wondered how they would find this person, or how he or she might know them.

That's how it usually started — trying to think his way through an impossible clue. And when no sense could be made of it, his thoughts would start to turn dark, just as they were now.

_Why can't Dungeon Master just come out and say exactly what he means? Why can't he simply spell it out for us? Why can't he be more helpful?_

And if it wasn't irritation at Dungeon Master's wordplay, it was doubt in his own intelligence and ability as a leader. Three years gone and they were still stuck in the Realm. He had to wonder if some of the blame didn't lie with him. He wondered how much longer his friends could respect him. Was the day coming when they would no longer follow his lead?

He was tired of thinking himself into circles every time they set out on a new adventure. It was the same every time: the guessing, the second-guessing, the worrying, and the self-doubt. One thing he figured that he must be good at was not showing it. But he knew he owed that to one certain red-head who was always there to make everything all right again.

He turned to look at her now, and mused that her title of "Thief" befitted her, if only for that she had stolen his heart. She was smiling amusedly down at her little brother, but then her eyes met his and she flashed him that special smile, which he returned without hesitation.

She was an angel with fiery hair and emerald eyes. His heart skipped a beat as the light of the three remaining suns that approached the horizon shone from behind her, creating a halo around her figure and setting her hair ablaze. He didn't want to take his eyes from the sight of her, but a sudden sound forced his attention away.

He stopped and held up his hand to signal the others to be quiet.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"All I heard was my stomach growling. When are we gonna—"

"Quiet, Eric!" Hank commanded. "Listen."

"Quiet, Eric," Eric mimicked under his breath.

Hank shot him a cold look, and Eric rolled his eyes.

There were faraway sounds of a scuffle. A feminine voice cried out, followed shortly by an inhuman shriek.

"Sounds like someone's in trouble," said Presto.

"C'mon, that someone may need our help," Hank said, and broke into a run.

The rest joined him. They ran through a final bend in the road before the outskirts of a village came into view downhill. The sounds of a hellish fight were unmistakable now, and all readied their weapons for whatever they were about to face.

Then they saw them: Five huge crimson spiders surrounded a woman who was holding a sword.

The spiders' legs held their height at nearly twice that of a man. Their heads, however, carried lower to the ground, giving them a menacing visage. Long, bloody, needle-sharp fangs protruded from hairy, misshapen mouths. They clicked together as they closed in on her.

The woman held her sword ready to strike at whatever came within its reach. Even in the light of three suns, the sword visibly glowed with a light of its own. Her dark clothes and hair starkly contrasted with the sickly pallor of her skin, making her appear as an animate corpse arisen from the grave to fight these foes.

The spider immediately behind her was already lying crumpled in a pool of blood issuing from the gaping death wound on its abdomen. One leg, pointing skywards, still twitched. The other four had all been dealt various injuries, but none were yet ready to withdraw. Their legs drummed the ground as they closed in on their quarry.

Hank was first to respond, loosing three arrows in rapid succession to draw the hungry pack's attention. The powerful arrows burst in front of the spiders, drawing three of them off.

Startled, the woman turned to find the source of these blasts and was knocked to the ground. She rolled underneath her attacker's raised front legs and perforated its head from below. Blood gushed from the thing as it lurched sideways, and she moved just in time to avoid being pinned to the ground by the sharp point of a leg. Finally, it fell and rolled onto its back, its legs already folding inwards.

In the meantime, Hank's arrows weren't going unanswered. The remaining spiders separated and stalked toward the group. Eric and Presto had the first of them to deal with, and it wasn't going too well. Eric was holding off the spider with his shield, while Presto was frantically trying to produce something from his hat.

"Could you hurry up back there, Presto!" Eric yelled.

Presto reached inside his hat, and then groaned as he pulled out something seemingly useless. "Bug spray? Oh great," he said. Nevertheless, he raised the can toward the spider and sprayed a pitiful cloud into its face.

To their surprise, the spider froze. Then it started sneezing. With each sneeze, the spider was forced backwards. Over and over it sneezed until it finally retreated into the woods that bordered the settlement.

_Three down, two to go_, Hank noted and looked around. One headed toward him and Diana, the other was chasing Uni.

Bobby and Sheila ran after the unicorn. Then Bobby shot sideways and yelled, "Sis, get Uni and disappear. I've got a bug to bash!"

Sheila called out to Uni, who turned and jumped into her arms. She brought up her hood and they were gone.

The pursuing spider faltered at its prey's sudden disappearance, and Bobby took his cue and rushed it with a yell. Hank only then saw the stranger running up to attack the monster from behind. There was no time to warn her. He nocked an arrow and took aim, hoping to move her in time.

But Bobby had already swung. A powerful upward swing sent the spider flying over her head to land in a heap far behind her. It jumped up, twisting in mid-air, and ran away.

Hank brought the bow down but kept his arrow ready. He caught the woman's look of surprise as Sheila and Uni reappeared at Bobby's side.

With a hand on his hip, Bobby triumphantly rested his club on his shoulder. "Nothin' to it."

Diana smiled and then gestured toward the last saliva-dripping opponent. "Guess it's our turn."

Hank brought the bow up again and fired at its face. He kept firing as he advanced, blinding it, pushing it back. Diana ran behind it and positioned her javelin underneath. Her weapon extended, and she flipped the beast up and over her, onto its back. Another well-placed arrow sent it spinning into the woods.

With it gone, the village fell utterly silent. Hank turned his attention to the stranger. She visibly relaxed her grip on her weapon and let her head fall back as she caught her breath. She stepped backwards to lean against a burnt-out dwelling.

"Are you all right?" he asked before he reached her.

She checked herself over. "I seem to be," she answered breathlessly. "Thank you, all of you. Well fought. They would have had me soon."

"You're welcome. I'm just glad we got here when we did."

"My good fortune, rare though it be, that you came along." She gestured toward his bow. "Those are very impressive weapons you all have."

"Oh . . . yeah. I . . . guess they are." He suddenly felt the need to change the subject. It was never good news when anyone took an interest in their weapons. But, he had to admit that he was taking an interest in hers. Her sword seemed familiar, but rather than ask, he made introductions as the others came up to them.

"I'm Hank, and this is Diana, Sheila, Bobby, Eric, and Presto," he said, gesturing to each. The little unicorn nudged Hank, and whinnied to be recognized. "Oh, and this is Uni," he added, smiling down at the unicorn.

She nodded to the group. "Donnova," she said, still panting. "I'm indebted to you all. You saved my life."

Presto pushed up his glasses. "Hey, you weren't bad yourself."

She smiled at him.

Presto smiled back until something caught his attention beyond her. His smile faded and all color drained from his face as he surveyed the village around them.

The others were now looking, too. There hadn't been time to consider their surroundings at first.

Burnt and bloodied corpses lay here and there throughout the small village. Houses were crumbling, patches of land were scorched.

"What happened here? Did those spiders do this?" Sheila asked, inching closer to Hank.

"No, the Blood Spiders were simply drawn by the scent of death about this place. I had the misfortune of disturbing their feasting, and this red garment only further enticed them," Donnova said as she brushed dirt and ashes from her sleeves. "They're quiet when huddled over a juicy meal. Walked right into them. I should've been more careful." She pushed herself off the crumbling wall that had supported her. It fell to dust behind her as she ambled across the way.

"Do you know what happened here?" Diana asked, catching up with her.

With her sword, Donnova tapped a dusty spiked helmet that lay in her path. "I think this answers for it."

Presto looked down, and his eyes widened. "That's an Orc helmet!"

"And _that_ means Venger," Hank attested, loath to speak the name.

"Hey, where's Bobby and Uni?" Sheila suddenly asked.

Hank's stomach lurched at the panic in her voice. He twisted to look behind him and froze, at the same time inwardly cursing himself for not keeping a closer eye on them. Bobby and Uni were standing over a child's blackened skeleton.

Sheila saw, too. "Oh no," she said, breaking away from Hank to go to them.

He watched her walk over and kneel beside her brother. Bobby said something to her, but Hank was too far away to hear. Then, brother and sister hugged each other tightly.

_Brother and sister_, Hank thought. _You're more like a mother to him, Sheila. And I feel like his father. So what does that make us?_

But this wasn't the time for such fantasies. He looked around to bring himself back to reality. Presto and Eric were having a look around. Eric held an arm across his nose and mouth. He was turning paler by the minute.

"Why would Venger wanna destroy a small village?" asked Presto.

"Yeah, what could these people have done to deserve this?" Diana gestured to the whole scene.

"Perhaps this village held something Venger wanted," said Donnova. "And perhaps it didn't. Does Venger need a reason to destroy? He's a sorcerous tyrant," she paused, "or a tyrannous sorcerer. Whichever you prefer," she finished with a shrug.

Sheila had come back with Bobby, Uni close behind. She stood behind him with her hands resting on his shoulders. Her soft voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "I wish we could have helped them."

Hank put an arm around her.

Donnova found the village's well and propped her sword against its base so to use both her hands to pull a burnt corpse from its edge. It fell to the ground with an abrupt thud.

Eric spun around at the sudden noise. A second later, he covered his mouth and ran behind a broken wagon.

She watched him go, and then looked to the rest of them, apologetically.

"I'll go check on him," Diana said, heading his way.

Donnova went on about bringing up the bucket of water and rested it on the edge of the well. She rinsed her hands and face as she spoke.

"We shouldn't tarry here. There's nothing left but death and debris. And more scavengers will come with nightfall," she warned. "Where are you headed? Not here, I hope."

"Depends on where 'here' is," said Hank. "We're looking for a village called Edonlea."

She stopped a moment. "Well, you're in the right place." She dropped the bucket back down. "You're definitely . . . in the right place," she said again with a sigh.

Hank studied her. There was something odd in the way she said it.

"What's left of it, anyway," she then added.

Hank frowned and looked all around the dead village. It felt odd to be casually conversing amid such death and destruction, but he wanted to keep focused on the matter at hand. "A friend told us to meet someone here," he said, still scanning the waste.

"I've seen no survivors. If there were any, they either fled or were captured by Venger."

Just then, a pale Eric walked up with Diana. "What our little friend said, o attentive leader, was 'You may find help in the village of Edonlea from one who can ensure your way is sound.'"

"Same thing, Eric," said Diana.

"No! It's not! Do _any_ of you guys ever _actually listen_!" he yelled.

"Watch your mouth, Eric!" Bobby yelled, pointing his club in Eric's face.

"Bobby . . . ," Sheila said as admonishment.

"Watch your own! You think that club makes you so big? Bring it on!"

"Calm down, Eric," Diana scolded.

"Everyone, stop!" Hank ordered, hating having to always be the one to break up fights — especially around strangers. It angered him more that Eric never seemed to care in any circumstance. He had to get them all under control.

"Look, Eric's got a point." He gave a weary sigh. "I know we're all tired, and it seems we came all this way for nothing, but we've got to keep it together."

Everyone went silent.

"I was sent here, too."

Their attention shifted to Donnova, who looked at each of them before turning to Hank.

"Probably by the same one who sent _you_ here," she continued. "Tell me, would this friend of yours happen to have long white hair, wear red robes, and be small enough to crush underfoot?" she asked with a crooked smile.

Hank's face lit up at the realization that she surely referred to Dungeon Master, though he was unsettled by her rude quip.

"You know Dungeon Master?" he asked. Hearing the hopefulness in his own voice, he wondered why exactly it was that he always considered it a plus when whomever they met knew their guide. It was like a feeling of discovering you're not the only one seeing the same ghost.

"We've met," she answered, eyes averted. Hank thought he detected a hint of unpleasantness in her tone. "You're looking for one. I'm looking for many," she explained. "I'd say we've found each other. Now we just have to figure out where we go from here."

"Dungeon Master said the one we found could help us get to the Rocks of Resonance." Hank looked over at Eric as if daring him to put his two cents in again. Eric returned a hard look.

Donnova thought for a moment, but then shook her head. "I've never heard of such a place. I'm sorry."

There were looks of disappointment all around.

Eric scoffed. "Lot of help _she_ turned out to be. C'mon, Presto. Let's get out of here."

Hank looked at Presto, who, as always, looked put on the spot by his friend's callousness. He was about to suggest that they all at least leave the village to figure things out when Donnova stepped forward.

"Wait!" she called out. "Eric?"

Eric stopped and turned around.

"You said, 'ensure the way is sound'?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered in a flat tone, as though none of it mattered anyway.

Hank watched her, trying to read the look on her face. If he had to describe it, he would say it was one of disbelief and alarm.

"How did he—" She took a deep breath, looked away, and let it out slowly.

Definitely anger, Hank decided.

She took up her sword and looked at it, tightening and loosening her grip as though checking its heft.

"Is . . . everything OK?" Hank asked.

"Yes," she said, but by her tone, she seemed far from OK.

Then she looked all around — first at the sky, then around the village. Hank watched as she walked back to one of the dead Blood Spiders and sliced off its pair of fangs with her sword. Next, she found the tallest tree and began using the fangs as spikes to aid the climb into the high branches.

Hank finally went toward her. "What are you doing?"

"If this works, you'll know in a moment," she said and winked down at him.

Hank and the others watched her, exchanged glances and shrugs amongst themselves.

She reached the top, and then suddenly, they were surprised by a high-pitched, ear-piercing wail. They covered their ears until it ceased.

"You could have warned us first!" Eric yelled up at her as he massaged his temples.

"Sorry!" came the reply from above.

Then, all were silent as a bass ringing began to answer from a distance. Everyone strained to hear the peculiar sound. Uni's ears turned this way and that to locate it.

"It's that way, straight through the forest!" Donnova shouted, pointing the direction. "Not that far!" she added, and then climbed down.

Diana approached her with a look of wonder and asked, "How did you do that? With your voice, I mean. That was incredible!"

"We should get moving before we lose any more light," said Donnova, obviously evading Diana's question. As she walked past Eric, she said, "I'll try not to cause you any more trouble."

Eric shrugged. "Why not? Everyone else does."

Behind him, Bobby said, "Can it, will ya, Eric."

"Can yourself." Eric turned and bumped his shield against the top of Bobby's helmet, pushing it down over his eyes.

"Hey!" Bobby yelled.

"OK. I don't think any of us want to spend the night here. So let's move," ordered Hank.

He was feeling better about the whole situation already. They'd found their help, just as Dungeon Master had said they would. And Donnova knew Dungeon Master, was sent there by him. There was also the likelihood that her weapon came from the same place theirs did, The Dragons' Graveyard, and that Dungeon Master himself had given it to her, as he had their weapons. Wasn't that reason enough to trust her? Still, something about her left him uneasy.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Sheila as she stood at the edge of the woods and looked back at the bodies left scattered around the village. Hank touched her shoulder, and she turned beautiful yet sad eyes on his. And he understood, indeed he expected nothing less from her. He knew she'd heal both this world and theirs if she could.

"I know," he said in answer to what he knew she was feeling.

"It feels so wrong to just . . . _leave_ them here," she said.

He wanted so badly to hold her right now, to take her far away from all the Realm's horrors. For even the aftermath of this apparent massacre to be beheld by such a delicate creature, such innocent eyes. . . . And such was the need he saw in those eyes that it wrenched his heart. If only she could know his urge to provide. One day she would, he vowed.

"Let's go," he said softly.


	4. Chapter 03 The Overlord Manqué

**CHAPTER THREE**

**The Overlord Manqué**

"Those villagers could tell me _nothing_!"

Back in the throne room of his castle, Venger fought to restrain himself from destroying everything around him. In a forced effort of self-control, he straightened and folded his wings until the only remaining trace of his exasperation lay within his smoldering eyes.

He was restive, wanting to strike out in all directions at once. So much had gone so wrong since those damned children had entered the Realm. Zandora had been brought from her banishment. Kareena was free of her prison, as was Lukyan. Destroyed were his Maze of Darkness, Prison of Agony, and Slave Mines of Barramore. Gone forever were the Crystal of Chronos, the Circle of Power, and the Golden Grimoire. The Citadel of Shadow, the Hall of Bones, and Darkhaven had fallen, as well. All of Dungeon Master's past pupils combined had never accomplished so much.

With a deep scowl, he sat heavily upon his throne and immediately fell into a slouch.

There had also been Demodragon, he reflected. His own creation that had turned against him and threatened to destroy the Realm. To his chagrin, it had been that wretched Ranger who had dispatched the uncontrollable creature and restored the Balance. How he had done it, Venger had never learned. The Chaos talisman he had given him had not been imbued with any magic that should have affected such a monster — another plan that had failed. It had been his hope that Demodragon would have finished them. It would almost have made its existence worth it.

The Ranger. How he hated him! And the Cavalier, as well. That contemptible Cavalier had once been allowed to parade as Dungeon Master. An insolent mortal boy, an off-worlder at that, had worn the robes! How dare Dungeon Master grant the mastery of the entire Realm to such a recreant, for even one day! The audacity!

His fingers crushed into the edges of the armrests.

He had to wonder what more could be undone by these young fools. They were as the Celestial Knights reborn. Had they not, indeed, survived the tests of courage within the Lost Tower of the Celestial Knights?

_Dekkion. . . ._ He heard the name in his mind. _Redeemed!_

He thought loathingly of the sole Celestial Knight, the man he had so long ago corrupted and used as the instrument of the Celestial Order's downfall. Dekkion now sought to resurrect the Order. Another nuisance Venger meant to dispel.

But not now. All his attention he focused on the pawns set in motion by his true adversary, Dungeon Master.

He spied Shadow Demon lingering low in the corner. It had been his information that had taken them to Edonlea.

There had, in fact, been no reluctance to speak among the villagers. On the contrary, they had babbled all kinds of information. Nothing, however, that was of any use to Venger. The subsequent slaughter, therefore, served only to appease a bloodlust born of acute frustration.

He rose and paced a moment before stopping in front of a mounted torch and staring into the fire. In it, he saw the fires that blackened the old village.

_They will surely find less there than I. Edonlea is no more than cinders, and there is no one left alive to aid them. Still. . . ._

What was this looming dread that plagued him? What were these foreboding feelings full of portent?

He reached up and took the flames of the torch into his hand and stared fixedly into them. The inner flames twisted and formed a familiar feminine figure before vanishing altogether, leaving Venger to contemplate the empty space. He lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes.

"_She_ is with them. So, the Swordswoman joins them at last." He closed his hand into a fist.

What did it mean? What did it matter? He had forgotten about the Swordswoman. She was nothing — useless even to Dungeon Master. It was when she had finally rebelled against Dungeon Master that he had summoned his other six. Why bring them together now, or at all?

Dungeon Master had never been able to gain his Swordswoman's friendship. Venger knew she had come to believe that Dungeon Master had brought her here merely to serve him, and so fought against his will. With her at odds with his enemy, Venger had so far let her be.

Was Dungeon Master so confident that she could not turn his faithful pupils against him if she but tried? _What is the old fool planning?_

Venger returned to his throne, more composed this time, despite the disturbing discovery. "The Swordswoman has no love for Dungeon Master. I _must_ use this to my advantage." _But how?_

"Shadow Demon, you will return to Edonlea. . . ."


	5. Chapter 04 The Sonant Stone

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**The Sonant Stone**

The fading daylight was further obscured by the dense foliage of the forest ceiling as Bobby and Donnova took turns clearing a path through the thick underbrush in near darkness. Between club and sword, they kept the most direct path possible, pausing now and again to check their resonating guides. The droning Rocks were quieter now, but sounding distinctly closer. All drudged on without speaking — weary, yet too close to their destination to warrant a break.

At last, a clearing was becoming visible, bringing everyone out of their lethargy.

"We're almost there!" Bobby cheered. He quickly finished the path on his own and ran ahead with Uni. Soon, he was shouting for the others to hurry and see.

They all stepped out from the thicket onto hard, flat ground and stopped.

"Whoa," whispered Presto.

"Takes your breath away," said Diana.

"It's beautiful . . . in an eerie sort of way," Sheila said.

"Yeah," was all Hank could manage.

"Why didn't I see this from the tree?" Donnova asked.

"Who knows," said Eric.

Hank heard the apathy in Eric's voice, and it troubled him. He knew he shouldn't go much longer without at least trying to talk to him about his perpetual foul mood. For now, though, he couldn't focus on Eric's attitude. Not with what was before them all.

They stood facing an enormous concave face of rock, cracked and graying. Hank craned his neck. It was taller than the tallest building he'd ever remembered seeing. And even then, there was a spike of rock that towered higher above the top of the circular rock from somewhere behind, the point of which was so high that it was still bright with sunlight.

Everyone slowly, almost reverently, approached the Rocks of Resonance, and then followed Hank as he began walking the perimeter. The Rocks were silent now. All was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the wind in the trees.

Hank looked around. The forest seemed to form a circular border around the entire area. Nothing grew within the circle. It was like some magic might have prevented it.

Coming to the edge of the closest rock, he saw that there were more. Eight such rocks surrounded the central monolith, which had eight sides to correspond. It was obviously ancient. Chunks of rock had fallen from all around the structure and embedded themselves in the ground. But even in its decay, the display commanded attention, and was truly a sight to behold.

Something else caught Hank's eye. Pointing at the base of the next rock, he said, "Take a look at that." He kept his voice low, as though afraid speaking too loudly would disturb what he discovered.

Diana and Sheila saw, and then carefully backed away as they reexamined the height.

Hank had assumed there was some kind of support behind them, but, impossibly, the massive rocks were standing on their very edges — only the barest tip made contact with the ground.

"Incredible," Donnova breathed. She studied it more closely, but stopped short of touching it and took a step back.

Presto adjusted his glasses. "Looks like no one's been here in ages. I wonder who built it."

"Who cares?" Eric said in the same apathetic tone as before. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

Then, an excited whinny from Uni drew everyone's attention.

"Welcome, my young pupils."

"Dungeon Master!" Diana cried. "This place is amazing!"

Dungeon Master approached from behind them. He stopped and stroked Uni's ears.

Eric abruptly stepped in front of the others to face Dungeon Master. "Yeah, ooo, it's amazing. Whatever. It'll only be amazing to me if it has some kind of magic that can send us home."

"Alas, it does not," answered their guide.

"I knew it! Then what are we doing here?"

Hank cringed at Eric's tone, but, as always, Dungeon Master seemed not to take offense.

"Do not despair, Cavalier. Rejoice! For you are about to embark on your final quest." He looked to the others. "If you succeed, your way home will at last be opened to you."

Eric turned his back, crossed his arms, and scowled. "How many times have we heard _that_ one?" he muttered.

Presto's eyes lit up. "Did you say 'final quest'?"

"What do we have to do, Dungeon Master?" Hank asked as everyone else, save Eric, gathered around.

"You must go to the Empyreal Tower at Realm's Edge, the southernmost boundary of this realm. There, you will realize your ultimate purpose here — that for which you were called."

"You mean we get to go home for real this time?" Bobby asked excitedly.

Hank shared his eagerness, as he was sure everyone else did, but braced himself against it. There was always a catch.

Dungeon Master nodded to Bobby, but then raised a finger. "But in order to gain freedom, you must first grant it. You must free Venger's very first prisoner from the Tower, for he is your very last hope. This map will show you the way." He handed Hank a well-worn map.

"L-last hope?" Eric had gone pale for the second time that day.

"First prisoner?" Presto said. "He's still alive?"

"Wow, he must be _really_ old!" said Bobby.

"I just hope it's as simple as it sounds," said Diana.

"Ha! Not with our track record." Eric again.

Dungeon Master walked over to a rock and touched it with a fingertip. He then drew a circle of red light. When he finished, the light faded and out fell a palm-sized rock of the same concave shape of the eight. With this, he approached Donnova.

"I see you have found allies, Swordswoman," he said.

Donnova crossed her arms. "As you said I would," she acknowledged coldly. "So, I see I was not the only one you wrested from another world to do your bidding. How many others have you burdened with the Realm's troubles? Are they children as well?"

"There are no more," he said, with a shake of his head.

She glanced at the others. "I have heard tales of these travelers in recent years. I should have guessed they were ones who shared my plight." She scowled at him. "And you saw fit to keep us separate for all this time, though we seem to have a common goal?"

Dungeon Master nodded solemnly. "I did."

"I see," was all she said.

Dungeon Master held the stone out to her.

She looked down at him disdainfully, cocking an eyebrow at him and mocking a smile, but took the proffered stone. "What's this? A trinket for my troubles? A token, perhaps?"

"Let it be known as the Sonant Stone," he said. "Guard it well, Swordswoman. To lose it is to lose all our hopes. You will know its purpose when the time is right."

He then turned to regard the rest of them, and Hank saw in his face an expression that he'd seen on Dungeon Master's face only once before — a sentiment he himself was all too familiar with: doubt.

"Dungeon Master?" said Hank.

But their guide only smiled and said, "Be careful, my children. And good luck."

He walked back beyond the circular border and was gone.

Everyone now looked at Donnova. She squeezed the Sonant Stone repeatedly in a tight fist held closely to her chest.

When no one else would say anything, Bobby spoke. "So you're lost too, huh?"

When she remained silent, Sheila went to her side. "Don't worry. We'll all get out of here. And by the sound of it, it'll be soon. Dungeon Master's never led us wrong before."

"Are you kidding?" Eric shouted from behind them. "He's never led us right, either!"

"Not now, Eric," Hank warned.

Donnova looked from Eric to Hank. "I'm afraid your friend may be right. I've been told too many times by the Dungeon Master that my efforts would lead to my escape from this place. All the deeds I have done for him, and I am still here." She looked at Sheila now. "I was once hopeful and believing, as you are now, but after years of being denied my freedom, I realized I had been a fool. I doubt there will be escape for any of us. We are all prisoners here — the Dungeon Master's captives. Venger may be the Force of Evil, but I believe the Dungeon Master may be our _true_ enemy."

"Dungeon Master isn't our enemy, he's our friend," Diana affirmed.

"Yeah!" agreed Bobby and Uni in unison.

"_Venger_ is our enemy," Hank added stiffly.

"Venger may be an enemy, but that's no reason to call the Dungeon Master 'friend.'" Donnova gave him a hard look. Then she looked at them all.

"Think about it. His riddles have always proved that he's aware of some predetermined outcome. He is the Dealer of Fates." She waited for anyone to dispute it. "Don't you see that he allowed an entire village to be slaughtered . . . for this?" She displayed the Sonant Stone between two fingers. "_For this_," she emphasized, thrusting it forward. "Venger must have discovered we were all headed to Edonlea, and was willing to destroy it to keep us from finding whatever we may."

Hank didn't know what to think of this. He looked around at everyone else and could tell they were just as perplexed as he. He certainly hadn't considered it; moreover, he had purposely tried not to think anymore of the death in that ill-fated village.

Donnova was looking at him again, and he didn't like the look. It reminded him of the way Dungeon Master had looked at him right before he, Hank, had accepted the blame for the opening of the Box of Balefire. The only time Eric had really taken responsibility for anything that he had done wrong, and it had been turned on him instead. Eric had been the one to open it, not him. But under Dungeon Master's glare, he'd allowed himself to be held responsible. Donnova's glare now was making him feel uncomfortable and defensive.

"This didn't even exist until now," she went on. "They didn't know! They died for nothing! Men, women, children — all for nothing!"

Everyone was as silent and as still as the Rocks behind them. Sheila looked as if she might cry as she listened to Donnova's impassioned argument. Even Hank found he was at a loss as to what to say.

Donnova sighed, looking suddenly weary. She turned her attention back to the Sonant Stone and rubbed its concave surface with a thumb. "It could at least do with some polishing, don't you think?" she mocked, and then tossed the stone as if flipping a coin. "Well," she said, snatching it from the air, "it seems, my friends, that our _freedom_ has already been paid for . . . in blood."


	6. Chapter 05 Fellow Stranger

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Fellow Stranger**

Dusk. Hank dropped an armload of firewood beside the sleeping mats Presto had supplied from his hat. He looked around. Everyone was busy making camp. Now was as good a time as any, he thought. He made eye contact with Diana and privately motioned her to follow him.

After a quick glance behind her, she slipped away to join him.

They walked toward the forest's edge together in silence, Hank preferring to wait until they were hidden by the trees before speaking. He was glad of the chance to talk to her alone. He had always valued Diana's insights, and he felt that now was definitely one of those times when he needed to hear them. When they were out of sight, they stopped. Propping himself against a tree trunk, he got right to the point.

"What did you think about what Donnova said?"

She looked at the ground, obviously still undecided on the matter herself. "I'm not sure what to think, Hank. She makes sense, as much as I hate to say it."

"Yeah," Hank said uneasily, looking away. "She definitely does not like Dungeon Master."

"I _know_! She's like Eric, only worse! And speaking of Eric, is it just me or is he edgier than usual these days?"

"You noticed that too, huh? I think he'll be OK. You know he's never handled being here as well as the rest of us."

"I don't know. . . . I think it's more than that. But, still, you'd think with Dungeon Master calling this our 'final quest,' he'd have cheered up a bit."

Hank shrugged. "Maybe he believes this time will turn out like all the others. And who knows? It might."

"We can't lose hope now. _This_ time will be different. It _has_ to." But Hank heard the unsureness in her voice.

He didn't want to think about what might happen if they were to fail _this_ time. He wanted to believe that they were truly about to embark on their final quest that would end in their going home, but he had to admit to himself that he had his doubts. Every time a chance to get home ended in failure, he took it as a personal defeat. He was the leader, after all, and he'd seen his friends let down too many times. The nearer-misses were hardest, and Eric was the type to never let him forget each lost opportunity.

And then there was that look on Dungeon Master's face. He couldn't shake it from his mind. He couldn't help but feel there was something Dungeon Master was holding back. But most disturbing was the random element: Donnova. They didn't know her. How could they trust her? Even though it was Dungeon Master who brought them together, he couldn't feel comfortable after seeing how they got along — or rather, didn't.

He felt Diana's hand on his shoulder.

"We've got to stay positive about this, Hank. I know his attitude can be annoying sometimes. . . . Well, OK, _most_ of the time. Just try not to let it get to you. Eric's just being Eric. And he's always been that way around Dungeon Master. He doesn't really mean it. But I get the feeling Donnova does."

Hank looked Diana in the eye. "She _hates_ him."

She hesitated. "I wouldn't say that. She just—"

"You heard her, Diana. She called him the enemy. She _hates_ him. I saw it in her eyes. Believe me, I know that look."

Hank immediately sensed Diana's concern at his words. He hadn't meant it to sound quite like it had. He was reminded of, and still regretted, having allowed his hatred to surface in front of his friends when he had decided to set out to kill Venger. He remembered how they had walked on eggshells around him for days after what happened in the Dragons' Graveyard.

_I was aiming for his heart, if he even has one._ _Why the hell did I release him? If he finds out what we're doing, it's over, and it'll be all my fault._

"But try to see it from her side, Hank," Diana said, bringing him out of his brief reverie. "She's been here all alone; we've always had each other. I'd probably be bitter, too. Besides, we don't know what's happened between her and Dungeon Master in the past. We don't even know how long she's been here."

Hank sighed. "I guess you're right. It's not fair to judge her without knowing anything. I just don't like this. Dungeon Master said all our hopes are with that stone. And with the way she feels about _him. _. . ."

"She probably wants to get home just as much as we do. She'll do the right thing. Still, I'd be more comfortable if he'd given it to you."

"So would I. I just can't help but have a bad feeling about all this."

"I know what you mean."

Hank looked behind them and sighed. "We'd better get back."

When they returned from their talk, they found everyone sitting around a blazing campfire. Donnova's hair was brushed, the cut on her face had been cleaned, and her shirt — the color of dried blood, Hank thought — was as good as new. She sipped something hot from a cup as the rest of them ate. It looked like Presto had been busy.

Sheila, Bobby, and Uni to one side, Presto and Eric to the other, they listened intently as Donnova spoke. Diana took a place between Uni and Eric, straight across from Donnova. She left room for Hank, but he remained standing. They now listened, too.

"At first, I thought it luck. I wouldn't have been able to use the medallion at all if I hadn't been received by my Dark Patron on my homeworld. That's when I realized the Dungeon Master knew more about me than I liked."

"What do you mean 'Dark Patron'?" asked Sheila.

"It only means . . . well, it's part of our religion, you see. At birth, my people are pledged to different Dark deities by our parents, or by the family's priest, and hope to be received by one or more of them when we come of age," she explained.

"You mean you're _evil_?" Bobby blurted.

"Bobby!" Sheila scolded.

"Well, she _said_. . . . "

"Hey, don't knock it! Fight fire with fire, right?" said Presto. He looked up at Hank, who hadn't been there to hear the whole story. "She's beaten Venger single-handedly!"

Hank's eyes shot to Donnova, who looked a little put on the spot by such a vote of confidence.

"I've been lucky more times than not. I've done what I've had to do to survive here. I've learned how to take care of myself. I've had to, being on my own all this time. If the Dungeon Master had cared to introduce us sooner. . . ." She looked down into her cup. "But it didn't happen that way, did it?" she finished with a sour expression.

She now looked at Bobby and smiled. "Now, as for evil, young barbarian, nothing is ever as simple as 'good' and 'evil.' On occasion, I have been wronged by the Dungeon Master and spared by Venger."

"Venger has spared us before, too," Sheila was quick to say.

Hank didn't like how easily Sheila offered that information. He eyed her, feeling suddenly on alert.

"But Venger _is_ evil. Dungeon Master said so," Bobby reminded them both.

"And do you always believe what the Dungeon Master tells you?" Donnova asked him.

"Yes."

Donnova leaned back, drawing in a long breath and slightly rolling her eyes. "Sometimes 'evil' only describes one who acts against a popular ideal. Is Venger _always_ evil? Is Dungeon Master _always_ good? Venger has, in the past, proven that he has some honor to him, and surely I'm not the only one who's been at the receiving end of the Dungeon Master's apathy."

Bobby cocked his head. "What's 'apathy'?"

She looked into the fire and her expression hardened. "It means that he does not always care to help when he so easily could," she answered as though an unpleasant example of such a time replayed in her mind.

"'Apathy' is Dungeon Master's middle name, if you ask me," Eric predictably threw in.

Donnova then looked into the eyes of each of the others, save Hank, who still stood, and grinned. "What if Venger sees _us_ as the ones who are evil? We are trespassers here, whether we want to be or not."

Surprised looks from all around, but it was Presto who finally spoke. "That's ridiculous," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes, it is," Hank agreed in a severe tone.

At this, Donnova raised her head to find Hank glaring down at her. She returned the look at first, but then spread her arms and smiled. "Only a jest."

But Hank wasn't buying it. She was testing them, gaging their reactions. He was sure of it. But it was just a feeling. Nothing he could act on. He decided to let it go for now.

"So, how long have you been in the Realm, Donnova?" Diana asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Hank finally sat down next to Sheila; Bobby moved to give him room.

Donnova turned her attention to Diana. "By the seasons . . . ," she began, looking thoughtfully to the sky, "nearly eight years."

"Eight years?" Presto said, sounding stunned. "We've only been here for— I don't know. Three?"

"That's a long time to be on your own," Sheila said.

"Any time spent in a place you don't want to be is too long," said Donnova ruefully.

Hank caught the private nod from Eric, which Donnova returned, and his bad feeling got just a little bit worse. But then something occurred to him.

"But we saw your sword within the past year. Did Dungeon Master just recently give it to you?" He had her sudden and complete attention now.

"_Where_ did you see it?" She looked genuinely interested to know.

"That doesn't matter. We saw it," Hank said.

"I even sliced a big rock in half with it!" Bobby added. "Sort of."

"You don't trust me," she said, ignoring Bobby.

"I want to trust you. Just tell us how could it be in two places at one time?" Hank asked, as stern as before.

She hesitated, and Hank didn't like it. "I'm sure it wasn't. Who knows where the sword went when I tried to be rid of it? _I_ never did," she said too casually for Hank's satisfaction.

"You're saying you tried to get rid of your weapon?" he asked incredulously.

Donnova nodded. "Yes. That's _exactly_ what I mean. But it always returned to me, and so I still have it now," she said with a definite tone of wanting to end that line of conversation.

And so Hank let it end there. Instead, they ate and kept the topic to speculation about this "first prisoner" that they had to set free. They decided he must be very powerful to still be alive and able — no, _possibly_ able — to send them all home.

They carefully avoided all talk about how great it would be to actually be home, to see friends and family again, but Hank knew they all were thinking about it.

They also questioned what might lie beyond Realm's Edge. Did the Realm just stop? Was there a "great wall"? The beginning of another realm? Nothing at all?

They would have talked the night away if Hank didn't bring it all to a close. "OK, guys, I know we're all wound up about what Dungeon Master said, but we have to get some sleep. If this really is our last chance to get home, we have to be ready for anything, so hit the sacks. I'm taking first watch."

"It's my night for first watch, Hank. Remember?" Diana said.

"I know. I'll wake you for second, alright?"

She gave him an understanding nod and went to lie down. One by one, the rest did the same.

Hank walked out a ways from the group, wanting to be alone while still keeping close. With his back to them, he took a seat on a slab of rock that had fallen and embedded itself in the ground. He knew he wouldn't have been able to sleep. He set his bow aside and pulled out the map Dungeon Master had given him. He looked it over carefully, memorizing it, and then looked out to the darkness southward.

He was still for a time. He mentally sent his mind out to scout ahead. He tried to picture the landmarks they should encounter along the way, his imagination giving him a bird's eye view of how their path may look in real life. He tried to get a sense for danger, the way he thought a psychic might do it. He wondered if the trip could be made without incident. He hoped so. This was it, their last chance. Everything had to be considered.

_No mistakes_, he told himself. _Not this time. No matter what._

"No roads," a voice behind him said.

He flinched, nearly falling off the rock. He caught himself and snapped his head around. His heart thudded in his chest, but he did manage to stop a few choice words from making it past his lips. "What?" he said when he'd finally collected himself.

"The map," said Donnova, still hovering over him. "There aren't any roads from here to Realm's Edge. There aren't any roads _anywhere_. A bit odd, don't you think?"

He looked back at the map and made a conscious effort to steady his breathing. The adrenaline was slowly beginning to abate.

"There don't have to be roads. We don't need roads," he informed her.

"But there's a city right there, before that mountainous region," she said, pointing. "Surely, there are roads."

"Maybe whoever drew this didn't bother to put them in," he guessed.

"Why make a map if you don't intend to show paths from one place to another?" She pointed again at the map. "And if that's to scale, it's going to take many days to get there on foot. Let's hope we can get horses in that city. 'Uutresk,' does it say?"

Hank rolled the map and tucked it away. "Look. No offense, but did you come over here for a reason?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I did, actually." She sat next to him and swung herself around to face the same direction.

"I'm sorry I upset you earlier. I didn't mean to. I forget myself sometimes. It's rare that I sup with ones so young." She winced a bit, like she hadn't meant to word it that way. "Anyway, I'm sure my words can seem to lack a certain . . . chasteness, at times?"

She smiled. He didn't.

"Just please watch what you say, OK?" He threw a glance over his shoulder. "There's already one among us who can't keep his opinions to himself."

She looked, too. "Ah, yes, your dark-haired dissenter."

"Eric. He just wants to go home like the rest of us. We're all a bit tired of chasing portals."

Donnova laughed derisively. "I tired of chasing portals years ago. Let me guess, it always comes down to either going home or helping someone you've grown to care for, or some better cause — when it's not Venger personally ruining everything himself, of course."

_Same boat, huh?_ he thought as he looked at her.

She nodded as though she heard his unspoken remark. "That's why I keep to myself, mostly. For me to befriend someone is to invite them to be used by the Dungeon Master in some scheme to keep me here.

"Oh, it comes off as coincidence, circumstance. But. . . ." She turned her face up to the sky, and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Why do you think we're here, Hank?"

He didn't answer right away. The truth was that he didn't know how to. So often in the past he'd asked himself that same question. So often he'd ended up deeply frustrated. If not to destroy Venger, then what? Why them, and not ones who already lived in the Realm? And what about all those times Dungeon Master tried to help them get home? Had he known each and every time that they wouldn't make it? Could it have been even worse than that? Had Dungeon Master ever actually helped them at all? Or had he intentionally kept them here, and only pretended to help them?

He remembered all the cryptic suggestions of a purpose and the life lessons. Maybe they weren't meant to go home at all. Ever.

_Why _are_ we here?_

He squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand up to rub his temple. The hand moved to rub his stiff neck before he let it fall back to his lap. "I don't know," he answered the only way he could. He could feel Donnova's scrutinizing gaze in his tensing neck muscles. He really wanted to be alone.

"But you thought you knew at one time," she said.

His mouth tightened, he didn't like being read like this. He took up his bow and stabbed the end into the ground. _Fine, let's have this conversation._

Hank took a moment to find the words. "When we got here," he began, "and I mean that first crazy moment, the first thing we saw was Tiamat. Then Venger." He paused, almost smiled. "And rocks floating in the sky," he added as an afterthought. Then he shook his head as if to dismiss it out of irrelevance. "Anyway, we must have appeared right in the middle of a battle. Tiamat attacked us. That's when Dungeon Master showed up and gave us our weapons, and we used them. Then we saw Venger, and he attacked us, too. The he flew off with Tiamat right behind him." He paused. "It was like a bad dream, or a cruel joke."

"Cruel joke, indeed," Donnova echoed, after a pause.

Hank went on. "Well, it seemed obvious from the beginning that we were here to—"

"Rid the Realm of the forces of evil," she finished for him.

Hank nodded and sighed. "Yeah."

"And something's happened to make you doubt that?"

He hesitated. "Yes," he said, knowing she was expecting more of an answer.

"Care to tell me what it was?" she asked outright.

"No." He didn't want to talk about that. He wanted her to leave him alone.

"I see," she said, and rose to leave. "Well, I'll be off to bed then. Goodnight, Hank."

She rose and turned to leave, but there was something he had to know.

"Why did you try to get rid of your sword?" She turned back to him and he looked up at her. "We do all we can to keep our weapons with us. So, why?"

"You say, 'your sword.' Well, that's part of it. This sword belongs here, to this Realm. It is not mine . . . and yet it is. . . ."

"Now you're starting to sound like Dungeon Master."

"There's no need to be cruel," she said with a smile. But then she turned more serious. "Have you ever dreamed you were someone else with that same bow, fighting Venger or some other foe? — Ah, so you have." She laughed. "You have such handsome blue eyes, Hank, but they give so much away." Now she sighed. "I came to believe my sword . . . _bound_ me to this Realm. And that is why I sought to be separated from it. I felt that . . . to continue to carry it . . . betrayed something in me. But I am willing to carry it once more, if it means we all go home."

Hank studied her. "Your eyes give away things, too." He paused, and she gave him a questioning look. "You don't believe any of us are going home, do you?"

She only looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Goodnight, Hank."

As she turned again to leave, Hank caught her chest with the point of his bow. She visibly stiffened, and then slowly turned her head in his direction. He was well aware of the threatening look he was giving her.

"We're all in this together, Donnova, and I expect us all to work as a team. I don't care where your loyalties lie. I'm responsible for my friends, and I won't let anything happen to them. I won't let this go wrong. Do we understand each other?"

"Of course," she replied.

Part of him wondered what the hell he was doing talking to her like this. It wasn't like him, was it? But at the same time, it felt good. Not exactly right, but good. He felt in control. She was older, but he was the leader here. He didn't have anything to prove, and he refused to be intimidated. All along, things had been a certain way, and he wasn't about to let them change now. She was the one who should have to work to get along with the group, not the other way around.

And he wasn't finished with her yet. "Now, where's the stone?" he asked. The virulence in his voice both shocked and stimulated him.

Not taking her eyes from his, she pulled the Sonant Stone from a pocket and showed it to him. "The Dungeon Master left it in my care. If you intend to take it. . . ."

"I'm not going to take it. I believe he gave it to you for a reason. I just don't want it found and taken if we happen to be captured along the way."

She eyed him lewdly. "Did you have a particular hiding place in mind?"

He tilted his head and scowled at her, not at all amused. "Just make sure you don't lose it, OK?"

Then, she did something that completely threw him off. She moved the bow's tip away from her chest, and started unbuttoning her shirt.

Hank couldn't stop his gaze from following her fingers on their way down. She stopped halfway and he watched as she pulled the fabric away from one breast. He didn't know what she was doing, but he did know that this was entirely inappropriate. He inwardly scolded himself for not saying or doing anything against it immediately. Sheila wasn't too far behind them not to see this if she simply rose and started in their direction. What if she was watching right now?

He couldn't help it, he had to glance back to see if they were observed. If he wasn't going to stop it, whatever _it_ was, he had to at least make sure no one saw. He moved his head mere inches and cut his eyes as far as he could.

There was a flash of reflected moonlight. His attention was fully on Donnova once again, who had drawn her sword when his head was turned. Hank jumped up and instinctively brought up his bow, stopping just short of summoning an arrow.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" she said as she brought the sword up and guided the blade to her exposed flesh.

Hank stood there, not understanding what she was doing. Then, his eye caught the dark line of blood that began to ooze from the top of her shadowed breast. Aghast, he watched as she positioned the Sonant Stone along the bloody opening. He cringed as her intention became clear.

"_Stop it_!" he whispered urgently.

"Don't worry. I've done this before. Walked around with a key in my hip for months. I never lost that, and I don't intend to lose this." She eased the Sonant Stone into her breast with a stifled grunt and pressed her hand over the wound. "There. May I go now?"

He felt he should say something, but words escaped him. He simply nodded, and then watched as she made her way back to among his friends' sleeping forms to find her own place on the ground.

Only then did he realize how drained he felt. His mind was alert, his heart was still racing, but the rest of him wanted to collapse. He sat on the ground this time to lean against the rock. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was sure he felt a headache coming on.

_We're gonna make it_, he told himself. _I don't care how, but we've gotta get outta here!_


	7. Chapter 06 Seven's A Crowd

**Chapter Six**

**Seven's A Crowd**

The next morning, everyone awoke early, eager to get started on what they hoped was their last journey in the Realm. Hank appreciated that Presto was trying extra hard to lay out a good breakfast on this particular morning. Eric was sitting next to him, encouraging the hat to spit out a decent omelet. Topped with caviar, he requested.

"Caviar for the Cavalier," Presto joked. "Coming right up . . . I hope."

Hank was standing over both of them, feeling as weary as he was sure he looked. More than half the night had passed before he had decided to wake Diana, and afterwards he just lay there on the ground unable to relax, much less sleep.

Presto passed him a banana. Uni took advantage of the moment to stick her nose in the hat and look for something for herself.

Nearby, Diana stretched her sides, and then fluidly moved to a handstand. Her legs slowly stretched out into a full split. Hank peeled the banana as he walked her way. He held it out to her, and she reached up and took it, continuing to hold herself up with only one hand.

"Thanks," she said.

"Show off," he teased with a smile.

He moved on and saw that Bobby and Sheila weren't far away. Bobby was talking excitedly to his sister, who gave him only sympathetic smiles and nods in return. Bobby obviously had more faith than anyone else that they'd soon be home, and Terri's necklace, which he was holding as he spoke, surely bolstered that faith.

Sheila seemed to stop listening. She was looking over her little brother. Hank followed her gaze.

Well away from the group, Donnova swung her sword, slicing an invisible enemy. He watched her. He was no judge of swordplay, but didn't see anything he could call error or bad form. She never flourished the sword, and though she was not graceful, she moved with efficiency and precision. As he observed her, he decided she was more offensive than defensive. He wondered at what battles she had fought. How many, and to what end? Had she killed?

She shifted and changed hands. The sword flamed to life as she thrust it forward with such force that it pulled her with it. After a quick pair of cross cuts, he saw Sheila walking towards her.

He knew he couldn't be so obvious as to interrupt them, not immediately anyway. He didn't want to appear distrustful by being intrusive. He'd trust Sheila to talk to her. He decided it might even help to secure Donnova's cooperation.

He certainly hadn't helped matters last night, he felt. He regretted having been so harsh when she really hadn't done anything wrong. She had come to apologize, and he had threatened her in return. He had only wanted to make things clear to her, to get his point across, but he knew he'd crossed the line. He thought of apologizing, but knew he wouldn't. It was probably the right thing to do, but he felt it might come across to her as weakness. No, last night's words stayed. He meant what he said last night.

Sheila had reached her now. He'd give them a few minutes, but only a few.

* * *

"Good morning," Donnova called to Sheila, and slashed the air with her sword.

With hands behind her back, Sheila smiled politely. "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Well enough. You?"

Sheila shook her head a little and shrugged. "Too much on my mind, I guess."

"I wouldn't get too excited just yet. This is by no means a sure thing."

"I wasn't thinking about that. I . . . I was thinking about what you said last night."

Donnova spared Sheila a passing glance as she moved with the sword, noting the girl's suddenly quieter tone, and moved to parry another invisible opponent.

"I said a lot of things last night — too much, according to your leader. What's on your mind?"

"You believe there's some good in Venger, don't you?"

"I never said that," she spoke as she continued her mock battle.

"But you don't believe he's entirely evil."

It wasn't a question this time.

Donnova hesitated at the next pass. "Of course not," she said. "I've seen Evil. But then, you were here when true Evil passed through the Realm."

Sheila nodded. "We barely escaped. Venger called him 'He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken.'"

Donnova's last swing ended with the sword landing in its scabbard on her back. She faced Sheila now, totally mystified. "You were with _Venger_ during that?" But then she held up a hand. "Wait. Escaped to _where_?"

Sheila glanced over her shoulder. Whatever she had to say, she obviously didn't want her friends to hear. "The Underworld. Dungeon Master took us there. He used nearly all his power. And Venger was down there, too." She paused. "I guess it's a long story."

"And one I would very much like to hear some time," said Donnova, matching Sheila's secretive tone.

Donnova crossed her arms and paced, taking in these scant details. A voice inside her head was telling her, first and foremost, to befriend the Thief. She was willing to talk, willing to trust, and apparently full of nice pieces of information. She realized that she may have underestimated this one who was so seemingly fragile and guileless. What did it say of someone who sought to absolve one such as Venger?

She thought back to that very day when The Evil One had come. She had thought at first that Venger had finally succeeded in claiming the Realm. Of course, she had later learned this was not the case. But she had never discovered what had actually happened that day.

"What doesn't make sense . . . " she said, looking back at Sheila, "is why a Dark Lord would flee the Lord of Darkness?"

Sheila's eyes lit up at this. "I wondered the same thing! And get this: he even joined us to fight him! He was gone when we got back, but Venger was actually going to fight at our side!"

Then, Sheila looked at the ground as if she wasn't sure about what she was going to say next. "I actually thought that Venger might not be our enemy anymore, that he'd decided to change." She threw a gesturing hand into the air. "Then, of course, he said something about how he's still going to destroy us all and then everything was pretty much back to normal." She tried to smile, but her disappointment was obvious.

Donnova tried to return the smile, but couldn't give it honest effort. She had too many questions, but they would have to wait. Beyond Sheila, she caught sight of Hank heading their way and shot Sheila a silencing look before adding a playful a wink and a smile as though they were two children keeping silly secrets from their parents.

Sheila smiled deviously in return, which was exactly what Donnova wanted to see. Such a little game was a welcome distraction from recent events. But the game was not without purpose. She wanted to learn all she could of them, and what they knew of their cherished guide.

* * *

Hank couldn't hear what they were talking about, but he'd decided their time was up. He could tell already that Sheila liked this woman, despite everything. Despite what, exactly, he couldn't himself answer. But this was one time that he wished Sheila didn't have such a big heart.

He cleared his throat. "Ladies, sorry to interrupt, but breakfast is served. So if you're hungry, better eat now while Presto's on a roll. We've got a lot of ground to cover today."

"We're coming," said Sheila.

Hank stopped to wait for Sheila to catch up to him, but to his dismay, she waited for Donnova to catch up with her. The gentleman in him let them precede him, but there was another part of him that wanted to keep Sheila as far away as possible from their new "friend."


	8. Chapter 07 Foreshadowed

**Chapter Seven**

**Foreshadowed**

As orc soldiers raced with their torches to keep up with him, Shadow Demon quickly made his way through the valley settlement of tents and wagons. The tribespeople had hurriedly put out their fires when they had spotted the orcs, but their efforts had been in vain. Shadow Demon needed no light to hunt his quarry.

_Not her, not her, not her. There you are!_

He found her in a small tent. Najina, not yet a woman, was these people's seer. Her visions of future and fortune decided where the tribe traveled. The tribespeople were dark-skinned, but Najina's skin was as black as coal, as were her eyes, hair, tongue, and fingernails. A true rarity.

Like a living, breathing shadow, thought Shadow Demon.

Three older women surrounded her, tried to hide and protect her. They screamed their word for "devil" at him repeatedly. Two of them tried to fend him off with sticks fitted with little black devil dolls on their ends, which burned with a bright and magical silver flame.

Shadow Demon found these savages' pitiful efforts rather amusing. If he was a devil in their eyes, what would this secluded tribe think of his master? Or of his master's master?

Three orcs, having followed the sounds of the women's screams, rushed in. They had to kill the devoted servants to get to the girl, but they soon had her.

Once outside, Shadow Demon surveyed the massacre occurring around him. The tribespeople had engaged the orcs in an attempt to save their treasured prophetess. He found this even more amusing.

_Savages fighting savages,_ he mused.

The primitives didn't stand a chance. Shadow Demon always made sure to bring enough orcs to subdue a population. It was over in a matter of minutes.

As the soldiers led Najina to the cage, Shadow Demon wondered if she was both blind and deaf, for she showed no emotion over the deaths of her attendants, the slaughter of her entire tribe, or being taken away by orc soldiers. She had not uttered a sound the entire time. He had wanted to hear her plead for her life, as others had. But this one had denied him that pleasure.

But, surely, she should have foreseen this. Why had she not escaped or warned her people? As he thought of it, he realized that everyone they had taken had been surprised by their capture. So, it was as he had thought. Not only was Venger unable to see any possible future, no one else could, either. He wondered if Dungeon Master might be similarly incapacitated, but he knew better than to presume such.

After having futilely exhausted every method of divination known to him, Venger had turned to spells that would tell him the names and whereabouts of everyone in the Realm with any power or skill of seeing the future, as if they might see what he could not. From revered oneiromancers to common pebble readers, Venger had ordered them rounded up and brought before him. And Shadow Demon had been given the tiresome task of overseeing the capture of them all.

_I should be at my master's side, not collecting this filth from throughout the Realm. Even I understand by now that no prophet or soothsayer can tell him what he wants to know._

He felt this must be his punishment for failing to pick up the Young Ones' trail when he had been sent back to Edonlea. Upon his return to the ashen village, there was no trace of them. Even the dead had been removed. There were no footprints, no wheel tracks — nothing to indicate what direction the Young Ones had taken, or who had moved the bodies and how. He hadn't needed to suggest to Venger that Dungeon Master had intervened.

Inwardly, he blamed his master for the whole fiasco in Edonlea. He believed that Venger's timing and methods had been much flawed, that his master had allowed his anger to dictate his actions, and thus had lost the advantage. Of course, these were things he dare not voice. He had advised Venger against the preemptive action, offering instead to follow the children to learn what he could, but his master had preferred a different, bloodier course. Shadow Demon felt there was nothing to do now but wait for their young enemies to make the first move.

Now, day after day, Shadow Demon took to his master more people from the list he had been given. And, day after day, their bodies were piling higher in the pit. He watched as their newest prisoner was thrown into the cage with other such augurs.

"That's the last one. We return immediately," he ordered. He was glad the day's work was over, and he could return to his master. Though he had become more irascible than ever and was unwilling to listen to counsel, there was still no place Shadow Demon would rather be than at Venger's side.

* * *

Back at Venger's castle, Shadow Demon reported immediately to his master. He bowed, though Venger had his back to him as he stood looking out a window.

"Six more await you, Master. Shall I have them brought to you now?"

He awaited his master's reply.

"Kill them," was Venger's answer.

"Master?" Shadow Demon had not expected this. He knew the augurs were worthless, but Venger had been so adamant before. Now, Venger's grave calm unsettled him. Something had happened. Something had changed. What was it? Though he had been given his order, he lingered and moved nearer to his master.

Then Venger said, "For they emerge to observe what can be seen only with one's own eyes. And so we shall wait . . . as _he_ does." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Shadow Demon behind.

_He?_ Curiously, Shadow Demon approached the window and looked out. Far, far away, in the shadow of an overhanging rock, stood a figure in a hooded robe. But the shadows could not hide him from a Demon of Shadow; the night itself was only a shadow to Shadow Demon. He looked into the eyes of the man as easily as if they occupied the same room. And the man was looking back with unmistakable focus and intensity. Shadow Demon was certain the man saw him, but the stony expression did not waver. Shadow Demon was simply . . . being watched.

_Who are you that my master does not kill you for this insolence?_ he wondered.

Infuriated, he wanted to dispatch the lurker, but he would do nothing without his master's command. These were very precarious times. Venger might be careless enough to act on impulse, but to Shadow Demon, that meant he himself should exercise a greater control than ever. He watched for a few seconds more, and then, reluctantly, left to dispose of the augurs.

He floated out and entered the antechamber past the four orc guards at the open door — two facing without, two facing within. There, the prisoners stared at him with much the same expression as had the mysterious hooded man. He crossed his arms and stared back, seeing them as nothing more than fresh bodies atop a heap of rotting corpses. That they were shackled together at the ankles and wrists would make it all the easier.

He glided to the dark one and hovered over her. He ran his shadowy claws through her ebony hair. He had always wanted to take a prisoner for himself, to have a captive all his own.

"We die now," she spoke at last.

"So, you do have a voice, and a lovely one at that. I may yet spare you for myself. I take it your power of foresight has returned?"

"We heard your master give the order, you floatin' dung-headed slug," said a man from behind him.

Shadow Demon turned and wrapped his claws around the man's throat. "You die first!"

"We can't see the future anymore," an older man said to distract him. "But there is something to be learned from that alone."

"Yes. It should be enough that Venger knows we can tell him nothing," a white-haired young woman said. "What does he think this means?"

The tone of her voice suggested she had an answer for that, but he would not hear it from this wench. "Silence! It is enough that you know what it means for you!" He turned to the waiting orcs. "Crush their skulls, and then toss them into the pit! All of them!"

There was a cackle below Shadow Demon. A haggard old dwarf woman laughed and said, "Venger knows! He knows! That's not future! It's now! Venger knows!"

Shadow Demon flew from the room as the hag continued her cackling. And though her hideous laughter was soon cut short with a sharp crunch, it seemed to follow him down the hall and through the walls.


	9. Chapter 08 Daring to Dream

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Daring To Dream**

Hank awoke with a word on his lips: "Home."

They had all just crossed the threshold of the portal into the world they knew. Hank marveled at the sights and sounds and smells of the busy fairground. He looked at his friends – all smiles, cheers, and hugs. He realized he wasn't carrying his bow. Looking over his friends again, he saw that they didn't have their weapons either. And they were wearing the clothes they had worn that day that they got on the Dungeons & Dragons ride. They no longer looked like a bunch of medieval fair rejects. His heart lifted at the thought of life returning to normal, at the relief of no longer having to be their leader. He could simply be their friend, and possibly — hopefully — more to Sheila.

With a wide smile, he took a laughing Sheila into his arms and spun around.

"We're home!" he had shouted. But it had been a dream, and he was glad that his exclamation hadn't escaped him at the same volume as in the dream.

He wanted to go back to sleep and fall right back into it all, but it was not the time to become lost in a dream. Instead, he thought of how far they had traveled in the past five days — with no sign of Venger.

He wondered where he was, what he was doing, and how it was that Venger hadn't yet interfered in what Dungeon Master had said was their final quest before possibly going home. Venger couldn't pass up a chance at taking their weapons before they were gone for good. So where was he?

Not here, which was all that mattered, he told himself and left it at that.

He cleared his mind, and then listened to the night. It was so quiet. It seemed they'd crossed some invisible boundary as they traveled into No Man's Land. There was nothing around. No one. It made him all the more curious about the city they expected to find before the end of the coming day. Would it even be there? The map that Dungeon Master had given him did appear rather old. "Ancient" was more like it.

He had checked that old map more times than he could remember. He saw it in his mind now and matched its landmarks with the memory of those same locations they had passed already. It amazed him how far they had walked in only five days, but he knew they had all walked with renewed vigor that came with renewed hope. This would be it, he had told himself many times. This time, they'd get home.

_Don't jinx it, Ranger. . . ._

He raised himself onto his elbow, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. He knew it was close to time to take over night watch duty from Diana, but he wanted one more moment with his thoughts. It wasn't often that he had time to think by himself.

He looked to the stars, trying in vain to force something familiar — the Big Dipper or Orion — to emerge from the alien night sky as he had often done during their first nights in the Realm.

The possibility of going home. . . . Dare he allow himself to believe it? No more Dungeon Master, no more magical bow, no more . . . adventure. He had to admit, he liked the adventure . . . and the bow had grown on him, too.

Then, a thought caught him by surprise: It would actually take time for him to get used to being home again! His mind froze as if he had hit on something of grave significance, and then he felt the floodgates open to thoughts he knew could be dangerous at this crucial time.

Over the past three years, he had made choices that had affected all their lives. He was their leader, no matter how he tried to shake off that label in front of them. But he couldn't deny it, even to himself. He was what he was, and his position actually felt natural to him. How could he go back to a life where he had to obey his parents? He felt so far beyond that. He'd have to relearn what was expected of him and retrain himself to not act without their permission, to not walk out without telling them where he was going. He didn't know if he could live like that again. He didn't know if he wanted to, no matter how briefly.

He had made life and death decisions in the Realm, helped so many people against impossible odds, seen things that no one back home could begin to understand. He had even survived the coming of He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken. Who on Earth could he tell that he had seen and felt the might of whom they would consider to be 'Satan'?

And sleeping beside Sheila, that would certainly be over, too. At least, for a while. He looked over at her sleeping form. The thought of sleeping alone in his bedroom brought no comfort. Just the opposite, in fact. In the Realm, he had a certain freedom that he knew he could never have at home.

And what about the rest of them? Hadn't they all formed a bond that was beyond friendship? It would be painful to be separated from them, he realized. They were his family, now. What would happen to that bond if they did make it home?

_Oh, god! What the hell am I doing?_

He fought to end those thoughts. He couldn't let himself see it that way. He knew he must not doubt. For the sake of his friends and all their families, he knew he must do all he could to get them all home.

He forced himself to find positives. _No more Venger, no more Shadow Demon, no more orcs, . . . and no more sleeping on the ground!_

With that thought, he rose. He straightened his tunic,and took a deep cleansing breath, and focused only on relieving Diana.

Her back was to him as she sat on the soft grass gazing up at the night sky. He didn't want to disturb her; he felt that she was probably thinking of Kosar. He realized that leaving the Realm was probably an issue she was having trouble dealing with as well. He purposely let a foot scuff the ground enough to make his presence known to her. Her head instantly turned to the ground and a hand went up to wipe at her cheek.

He didn't wait for her to get up. Instead, he sat beside her and put his arm around her.

"Hey, no need to hide your tears from me," he said, and smiled at her.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "We could be home in a matter of days, Hank. I . . . I always thought I'd see him again, you know, before going home. One last time," she said.

"Dungeon Master said you'd see him again. I have a feeling Kosar went to a place where he can watch over you whether you're in this world or ours. He'll be with you wherever you go."

She raised her head and looked at him. "Do you really think so?"

"I think we've been in this realm long enough to learn that just about anything is possible."

She looked back to the stars. "I hope you're right."

He hoped he was right, too. "Now try to get some sleep, OK?"

Diana nodded, started to get up, but then leaned over and kissed Hank on his cheek. "Thanks," she whispered.

He felt himself blush and smiled as he watched her go to lie down. Then he looked up at the same stars Diana had just looked to as she had thought of her dreams, and thought of his own.

* * *

Donnova opened her eyes and watched as Diana lay down after being relieved by Hank. Eric and Presto, Bobby and Uni all still slept. She looked at Sheila, whose eyes were closed, and whispered, "All clear. Still awake?"

Sheila opened her eyes and smiled mischieviously. "Yeah. That was close. I don't think he heard us."

"We're not doing anything wrong. Only talking. Now, you have to tell me how it ends. I'll never sleep if you don't." She smiled ingratiatingly, wrapped her arm in her blanket, and tucked it under her cheek.


	10. Chapter 09 Welcome To Uutresk

**Chapter Nine**

**Welcome To Uutresk**

This time when Sheila laughed, Hank resisted the urge to look her way. She and Donnova had become fast friends since they left the Rocks of Resonance. "Inseparable" was a better word. Sheila hadn't even been sleeping close to him at night anymore. She and Donnova would pick a spot a little ways away from everyone and whisper and occasionally giggle with each other. Each night, he told himself he'd say something about it the next day, but of course, he never did. What could he say?

And Sheila wasn't the only one under Donnova's influence. She had given Presto a few tips toward improving his magic — not that she was any kind of magician herself, she had admitted, but she claimed to have dabbled a bit. She had said that you couldn't live in the Realm for so long without picking up a few tricks here and there.

Eric she had bonded with over a shared dislike of Dungeon Master that only Venger could rival.

Diana and Bobby were fairly neutral. They accepted her well enough.

As for himself, he found that he just couldn't approach her like the others. He realized that after what he had said to her about being a team player, he wasn't being much of one himself. He simply couldn't like her, and he didn't feel he had any truly legitimate reasons not to. He just kept telling himself that they would all be home soon and that they could forget this world, forget this woman, and get their lives back on track — their _real_ lives.

He looked up at the sky. It was somewhere between late afternoon and early evening, he guessed. By his calculations, such as they were, they should be reaching Uutresk any time now. He could see the pale outline of mountains far, far in the distance, the last real landmark on the way to Realm's Edge. They would take Death's Pass, which would take them straight through the largest of the mountains. But what kind of place was this for a city? Judging by the map, Uutresk looked to be a good size, but they hadn't seen or heard anyone around, as one would expect to see in the land surrounding.

Everything felt dead here. Sure, there were trees and grass, birds, and what sounded like lizards running through the leaves here and there; and the path they traveled wasn't completely choked by nature, it did seem to have some wear on it, but it was otherwise lifeless.

"You smell that, Hank?" Donnova came up behind him and threw an arm around his shoulders. She inhaled dramatically. "Stables. And where there are stables, there are horses. We'll make much better time on horseback."

Now that she mentioned it, there was a faint smell in the air that made him think of a farm, of animals.

"What makes you think someone would just give them to us?" he asked her.

But then her arm fell away from him as she stopped and stared ahead. He followed her gaze to the distant structure coming into view. If this was Uutresk, it was not at all what he had imagined, not nearly as big. This looked like a small, walled town. He checked the map. According to it, the only thing out here was the city of Uutresk, and it had no walls. Still, this had to be it.

The closer they got, the more Hank preferred the quiet of moments ago. He could hear yelling and screaming and the clinking of metal against metal through the stone walls of the place.

Finally, they reached the massive wooden door. A simple, heavy knocker was low and center.

"Suppose we should knock," said Hank, as he reached out to do just that.

Eric jumped between Hank and the door and shoved him backwards. "Knock? Knock! Are you nuts? I don't think I wanna see what I hear on the other side of that door!" he yelled. "I say we just keep going and act like we never saw this place!"

"Myeah!" Uni worriedly bleated. Then, she looked up at Eric as if she couldn't believe she was actually agreeing with _him_.

Bobby crouched down and stroked her mane. "Don't worry, Uni. I wouldn't let anything happen to ya."

"Maybe Eric's right, Hank. Things don't sounds too friendly in there," said Sheila in her typically worried tone of voice. "We could keep going. What do you think, Donnova?"

_You're asking her?_ Hank thought.

"If they have horses, I'd like to try bargaining for some for the rest of this trip."

"You've got money?" Presto asked.

"What little some of the villagers of Edonlea had," she told him offhandedly.

"You took their money?" Hank asked.

"They had no more use of it," she said in her defense. Then, after seeing his annoyed expression, added, "You do what you have to do to get by in this world."

Hank decided to drop it before it had a chance to become an argument.

Then Diana spoke, "You know, Hank, we are more than halfway to Realm's Edge. We can make it on foot. Right, everyone? I mean, what if whatever's in there doesn't want to let us out again? We have to be extra careful right now."

Hank was about to agree when a little voice said, "We won't lock you up, sillies. You're welcome to stay the night, if that's what you wish. It would be nice to have some normal people here for a change."

"Who said that?" Bobby asked as everyone looked around.

"It was me," the tiny voice said with a tiny giggle. "Down here."

All looked down at what looked like a white lizard that stood on its hind legs. It was standing just outside a small crack in the wall, looking at everyone with small pink eyes. It ran forward, climbed Hank's leg and ducked under his tunic, giggling all the way up.

"Stop it! That tickles!" Hank said through his laughter.

The lizard emerged through his collar, and rubbed its head against the bottom of his chin. "Mmm, you feel nice," it said.

"Um, thanks. But I don't think we've been properly introduced," said Hank. Everyone laughed. He held out a hand and it climbed on, holding tightly to his thumb and wrapping its tail around his forefinger.

"You're Hank, and I'm Uellen. There, we aren't strangers anymore." She fluttered grey eyelashes at him. "So, have you made up your mind yet, Hank?"

"A-about what?" Hank asked. He blinked, trying to remember what they were talking about before the talking lizard had appeared. "Oh, that. Well. . . ." He glanced up at the door with an uncertain look on his face.

"You must have been walking for days, poor dears." Uellen scrambled down Hank's body. "Now, stay right there, and I'll let you in."

She ducked back through the crack from which she had emerged, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, the sounds of metal scraping metal could be heard from the other side of the door. The door then eased open, pulled by an orc with only one well-muscled arm. He wore a simple brown tunic and black boots, rather than the armor of Venger's soldiers. And on the top of his head sat Uellen, smiling and waving them inside.

When they didn't immediately follow, she peered over the top of the forehead of the one-armed orc. Banging a tiny white fist on his brow, she said in an urgent whisper, "Smile! You're scaring my friends!"

The ends of the orc's mouth curved upward at her command into something that barely passed for a smile. "All are welcome to Uutresk Sanctuary. No one is turned away," he said.

"Uh, thanks," Hank said.

"They haven't brought us anyone, Bitsnout. They just need a place to stay for the night," Uellen told him.

"Oh," he replied.

"Come on in, everyone," she told them.

They stepped within the boundary of the sanctuary, as the orc had called it. For the most part, it looked like a typical town with roads, shops, small houses and such. It was the people themselves who set this place apart. It seemed every species of the Realm could be found here, but only of the most outre and grotesque sort. So many of them were deformed or missing a leg, an arm, an eye, a foot. Most kept their heads down. The ones who did glance up quickly averted their gaze and went on about their business.

A muffled scream sent a chill down Hank's spine. He looked for the sound, and noticed a distant, tall barrier of wooden planks that seemed to divide the town. A crowd had gathered against the wooden barricade, peering out at them from between the planks. Unlike the quiet people on this side of the barrier, those beyond moaned and grunted, waving arms and gnawing on the wood. He heard the sounds of rattling chains coming from several different directions, then another distant scream, distinctly male this time.

_What kind of place is this?_ Hank wondered.

"So, this is it, huh? I thought you said it was a big city," Eric said to Hank. Hank could hear in Eric's faltering voice that he was really just as shaken as everybody else probably was, including himself.

"Uutresk _was_ a city once, a very, very long time ago," Uellen explained as she led them down a stone path. "But it was abandoned, and its stones and metals were used for the walls and chains here. All that remains is what you see. It became a place where all the unfortunates of the Realm could be cared for. Some are brought here, like I was; and some, like Bitsnout, come on their own."

"I served Venger until I lost my arm in battle. I knew he would kill me, so I ran away. He kills any too weak to fight. I was lucky to escape," Bitsnout told them.

Hank felt a strange sympathy for the orc. "Guess that explains why we've never seen an injured orc."

"We've also never met one who could speak so well," Diana added.

Bitsnout smiled and pointed to his little rider still atop his head. "Little Fairie Dragon teaches me."

"And quite a job it's been, too," Uellen added, smiling down at him.

Hank looked back over his shoulder at the others. They had the same confused look he had.

Presto looked at him and mouthed, "Fairie Dragon?" Hank shrugged in response. He wanted to ask Uellen the obvious question, but decided it wouldn't be tactful.

Suddenly, Uellen shouted, "Ah, there he is!"

Bitsnout raised his hand so that the odd-looking Fairie Dragon could jump into his large palm. She didn't wait for him to lower her to the ground, she jumped and ran excitedly toward a man who was having a little trouble climbing out of a square hole in the ground. Bitsnout quickly walked over and helped the man out.

"Thank you, my friend," the man said to the orc. He then flipped a trapdoor shut and locked it.

Hank looked the man over. He thought he looked like a gypsy peddler straight out of an old movie. He was neither tall nor short, and was dressed in subdued colors from head to foot. He wore an eye patch and a wraparound headband with shiny little trinkets dangling on all sides. He also had a pegleg, and held a cane that had a whip attached to the handle.

"You should have had someone help you with him," Uellen scolded him as she climbed up to sit on his shoulder.

"No, no, my pet. Best I manage him alone. He's in quite a state," the man said to her.

"We have guests," Bitsnout informed him.

The man looked up at Hank and the others. "Oh, hello there. Sorry I wasn't there to greet you. Didn't hear the knock."

Hank was about to explain, but Uellen spoke first. "They didn't knock. All the screaming nearly frightened them away."

The peg-legged man looked apologetic. "Oh. Sorry you had to hear all that. It's normally a bit quieter 'round here, but I've a couple causin' an uproar lately, sayin' the world's comin' to an end. I hate havin' to put anyone in the dungeons, but. . . .

"But that's not your worry. I am Warandraw Oldbano, but everyone just calls me Oldbano. What can I do for you today?"

"They'd like a place to stay for the night. They're travellers, _adventurers_," the little Fairie Dragon broke in again.

Oldbano cut his eyes toward Uellen and pursed his lips. "People _can_ speak for themselves, ya know?"

Uellen cringed with a smile. "Sorry," she whispered.

"Are ya quite done, pet?" Oldbano teased.

"Mmmm . . . mmm-hmm." She was obviously trying not to giggle.

"Ya sure?" Oldbano was about to laugh himself.

The Fairie Dragon nodded as she played with the hair that was sticking out from his headband.

Oldbano turned again to his guests. "Travelers, eh? Wherever could you be headed this far south? There's nothing down here for young adventure-seekers."

"We're going to Realm's Edge," Hank answered.

Oldbano's eyes widened and he laughed heartily. "Realm's Edge? Perhaps the lot of you are already in the right place! Here, among the insane!

"Son, no one goes to Realm's Edge . . . and makes it back to speak of it, that is. You're certainly welcome to spend the night — Uellen and the missus can help you get settled in the guest house. Don't think anyone's ever used it, now I think of it," he said with a scratch of the head. "But I'd advise that you head north when you leave us. Realm's Edge is no place for children, I can tell you."

"I appreciate the warning, Oldbano, but Dungeon Master told us to go there. We've come too far to turn back now," said Hank.

"Ah. . . . Dungeon Master. Well, tha's a bit diff'rent, I 'spose. If he sent you that way, who am I to question it, eh? I wish you luck on your journey, then. You'll need it. Now, you'll have to excuse me. Must prepare for the evening meal. I'll have the wife bring you something.

"And now, I must leave you in Uellen's care. She's quite handy around here for such a little thing. I know she'll enjoy havin' company."

"Thanks," said Hank as Uellen jumped from Oldbano's shoulder to his.

"See ya later, pet," Oldbano said to Uellen before hobbling away.

Uellen showed them to the guest house and soon they all ate delicious home-cooked meals of various vegetables and a little meat, with fruit for dessert, all courtesy of Mrs. Oldbano. Home-grown, as well, Uellen had told them as she ate from a small saucer. "You should see our garden," she had said.

As they ate, Hank listened as she told them all about Oldbano and the Sanctuary. The gate dividing the town separated those who could still live in civilized society from those who could not. Beyond the gate were the mentally ill and the insane. Most of them had to be chained to their rooms so they couldn't harm others. It was best to stay away from them, not to get them too excited. There was even a special part of the garden devoted to the growing of herbs used to subdue the more violent ones.

The way she went on about other aspects of life there, it was as if she was preparing them to live there forever. Hank figured it was as Oldbano had said, she really enjoyed their company. And everyone enjoyed her company as well. Even though he'd only just met her, he already regretted having to leave her in the morning.

As Presto finished his fruit, he broached the subject of Uellen's apparent handicap. "So, Uellen, . . . I . . . guess you're here because you don't have wings like the others," he said in the most careful of tones.

Uellen looked at him in shocked surprise. "Others? You've seen the other Fairie Dragons? Met them?" She ran over and jumped into his lap with an anxious look in her little pink eyes.

"We rescued Queen Tasmira from King Varon," said Bobby proudly.

"And then we helped them escape with their treasure to a new home, The Forest at the Edge of the World," Diana added.

Uellen begged them to tell all and looked as though she might faint as they took turns filling in the details. When they were done, she clutched her tiny hands against her tiny chest and, with tears welling in her eyes, said, "They're all home? They made it?"

Everyone nodded, except Donnova, who knew nothing of this adventure. Hank felt so sorry for this last Fairie Dragon. He couldn't imagine what it could be like to discover you're the only one of your kind left behind in a place like this. He'd been thinking about it since he first learned what she was.

"I'm so sorry you couldn't go with them, Uellen," Hank said softly.

"Oh . . . that's OK, Hank." She sniffled. "I'm just so happy they're all safe. I was so worried . . . so worried after my parents didn't visit me for my birthday a month ago. They always came to see me on my birthday. It was a long and tiring trip for them. Dangerous, too, to be out so far. But . . . but they always came." She paused to try to collect herself. "I was so afraid something had happened to them. I wanted to search for them, but . . . but I'm so . . . small . . . and I can't . . . because I don't have—" She wiped her eyes with the tip of her tail.

"I'm so sorry, Uellen," Sheila said, with tears in her eyes.

Uellen rubbed her eyes and composed herself. "I was brought here by the one human friend we had when I was small, you see. I mean, well, I've always been small, even for a Fairie Dragon. This is my home, now. And Oldbano would just be lost without me." She smiled as well as she could. "Without wings, I never could have. . . . Well, I'm just glad they're all home. Thank you so much, all of you, for helping them.

"Now, it's getting late. You'll all need good rest for your journey tomorrow. Go on to bed, now. I'll see you in the morning. I'll make sure you get a good breakfast. Goodnight."

Everyone said their goodnights back to her, but she had too quickly slipped out the door.

"Poor thing," Sheila said. "She was so brave in front of us."

"Yeah," Presto said, watching the door sorrowfully.

"Yeah, well, thanks for not telling her I was the one who broke that mirror," said Eric to the wall.

No one responded. There was really no need.

"Let's get some sleep, guys," said Hank.


	11. Chapter 10 Creatures of the Night

**Chapter Ten**

**Creatures of the Night**

It was no good. Donnova couldn't sleep. She rose to see Sheila and Diana sound asleep, and then let her head fall back onto the excuse for a pillow. A minute later, she got up. She walked to the open doorway and watched the males. She didn't understand how they all slept so soundly, not with the incessant noise — the howls, the shrieks, the moans, and all the other sounds she couldn't identify. Even the unicorn breathed the deep breath of sleep.

She decided on a walk and quietly slipped out. The air outside was neither warm nor cool, and there was no wind. The sky was clear, and only a sliver of one of the three alien moons was lost in shadow. Beyond the fence that surrounded the Oldbano home and their guest house were countless restless souls — insomniacs mindlessly milling about inside the four walls of their collective tomb. Donnova couldn't decide whether to feel disgust or pity for their blunted, meaningless existence. She thought of her silver-skinned, voiceless mother, who could only grunt like a fish out of water. A Dark Siren in exile on a world where everyone hated her. And all because, as the stories went, she truly fell in love with a mortal man.

"Valmun be with me," she sighed as she whispered her little Dark Prayer.

She looked up and around at the enclosing walls and sighed, deciding she'd spoken a bit too soon regarding the horses. She hadn't been expecting a fortified town full of madmen. Damn Dungeon Master and his old map, she thought. There was no way to secret horses from here, or to purchase them. She doubted she had enough money, anyway; she doubted they even cared for coin, self-sufficient as they were here. And it was likely to be that they only kept what horses they needed for farm and travel and, therefore, would not have parted with a single one in the first place.

Ultimately, it was of no importance. It was only that she was eager to get to their destination. She wanted something to do, wanted to get the whole ordeal over with. Though it seemed that Venger may not be aware of their quest, each passing moment could change that and bring him upon them.

Still, there was no harm in having a look, she thought. She would seek the stable.

She figured the best place for a stable would be as far away as possible from Sanctuary's "wild half." The southeast corner would serve best. Observing closely the meandering inhabitants, she set across in the same manner as they moved — like mindless sleepwalkers — so as not to draw attention to herself.

She avoided locking eyes with anyone all the way across, but remained vigilant. The only time she felt compelled to look up was when she realized someone was following her. The same figure moved from behind one building to another. And her stalker hid every time she turned her head. For all she could see through the shadows the one time she glimpsed him fully, either his head was misshapen, or he wore a hood. It made her shiver, in spite of herself.

She looked for him now and again as she went, but he had gone.

Right where she had imagined, she found a stable and small corral where a few bridled horses with roached manes stood perfectly still, obviously asleep. She heard other horses within. She looked around, but there was no one close to this area of Sanctuary. She climbed over the fence, and unbarred the wide stable doors.

Blackness.

She quietly made her way straight through to open the opposite doors to let in more light. She pushed one door wide open. As she began pushing the other door out, it creaked, and she heard muffled, nervous neighs from several horses behind her.

"It's alright. I'm one of the sane ones," she said to them offhandedly as she pushed the other door open.

She turned to go back inside and gasped at the sight of a figure standing in the opposite doorway — a gangly, black silhouette against the moonlight. It didn't move, didn't make a sound, but inspired dread all the same.

"Oh, hello," Donnova said pleasantly. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'm a guest of Oldbano's—"

She hadn't seen it move, yet it was suddenly right before her, so close that she saw only a flash of bare chest and neck before strong, vise-like arms held her fast, crushing her. There had been no time to react, and now she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. She tried desperately to break free, but to no avail. It was as though a statue had come to life and wrapped itself around her. Then, her mouth opened in a breathless gasp as she felt a piercing pain in her neck.

_Vampire_, she realized as her vision blurred and her body numbed.

She felt as though she were floating, falling, dreamlike through the air. Curiously, the pain melted away, along with the will to fight. She wanted only to relax in those powerful arms and fall into peaceful slumber. Nothing else mattered. There was nothing else. Then, there was the feeling of being lifted, of flying backwards.

Her back slammed onto the ground outside the stable. She was vaguely aware of the sounds of horses grunting, of hooves scraping and stamping as she lay still, wide-eyed, staring into the starry night. She felt at peace as she surveyed the sky. The stars twinkled at her, the cool air was soothing on her face, the three moons shone so brightly. . . .

Something wasn't right.

_Three moons. . . . Three moons!_

With a jolt, she came to her senses. Dull pain in her back became sharp and her lungs fought to refill themselves as her mind raced to reconstruct what had just happened. She struggled to get to her feet, but her limbs moved as though through quicksand. She made for her sword, but discovered it missing from its scabbard. Frantically, her eyes searched the shadowy darkness for the creature that had attacked her, while her hands cast about for her weapon.

A guttural noise issued from the shadows within the stable, and Donnova froze in fear. Then, he emerged — naked, hunched, and staggering. He was bald, and his ivory skin seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. He was bent double, but tilted his face up to look at her. There was a mixture of pain, confusion, and anger in his expression. His lips drew back to reveal blood-covered fangs, and his hairless brow hooded his eyes. It shocked her to find his mien to be more menacing than Venger's.

She pushed herself backwards as he moved unsteadily towards her. Her palm landed atop the cold metal of a blade and she moved to try to reach its hilt. The vampire took another step and convulsed. Dark blood-vomitus splashed onto the ground where Donnova had just been.

"Poison!" he bellowed, and spat more blood. "How do you thrive with such bile in your veins?" He looked at her again and caught sight of her hand inching for her weapon. "Come to slay me?" he asked in an amused and condescending tone.

"I didn't know you were here!" said Donnova. She wondered at how that pitiful excuse for a dragon could have neglected to mention a vampire living in the stable among all the other drivel they'd endured from her that evening. "Now, if you'll excuse me, we can both forget _I_ was here."

Her hand closed around the hilt of her sword, but the vampire placed a foot upon the blade. He jerked her up hard by her collar and brought her face inches from his own. His breath stank of blood.

He said nothing, simply stared at her. His silence both frightened and angered her. There was no one to help her if he meant to kill her, and he was too fast and too strong to defeat unarmed. And if he did intend to kill, what was he waiting for?

"You came to steal my horses," he whispered.

"No, I—"

"Money does not interest me . . . worthless as your blood."

Hearing this, the idea of offering a certain little unicorn in trade came to mind, but she knew there was no chance of that happening.

"Unicorn. . . ." The vampire breathed the word, savoring each syllable with a vile grin. He promptly dropped her back to the ground. "I've never tasted unicorn," he mumbled to himself as he walked back into the stable.

Donnova realized that he had read her mind, and wondered what more he might now know. Sword now in hand, she stood and followed him back inside.

She couldn't see him until he turned his eyes on her. And even then, all that was visible of him were their two points of dimly reflected light.

"Two horses for the unicorn," he uttered in quick whisper.

"The unicorn isn't mine to bargain with, blood drinker."

"Oberkind! _Lord_ Oberkind! And do not pretend to care about meaningless notions of property or possession, _Donnova_! As far as I'm concerned, Uni is already mine. I _must_ have her! You are simply . . . making a delivery," he said as he flexed his nimble, clawed fingers. "Fail me, and I'll rip you in pieces and feed you to them," he threatened with a nod toward Sanctuary's other half.

Donnova ignored the threat and looked toward the horses in their stalls. Time to bargain. "Two aren't enough."

Oberkind sighed. "No, I suppose not, not for seven. Three. No more."

"Agreed."

"Then go."


	12. Chapter 11 Bad Blood

**Chapter Eleven**

**Bad Blood**

As Donnova walked back across Sanctuary, an impotent rage simmered in her belly. This sudden and unfortunate turn of events had her thoughts spinning and her nerves on edge. One wrong move, one bad choice, had turned the night upside-down. She had to calm herself and decide exactly what she meant to do next. Oberkind was waiting, and there were hours until sunrise, if he was even the kind of vampire that was affected by the sun. She had to assume that the vampire had also learned that they meant to leave in the morning. She knew that if she didn't act, the vampire would. He couldn't pass up the chance to add a unicorn to his collection; he wouldn't let them leave with Uni. She couldn't think of a way out of this that didn't involve awakening Hank and explaining herself to him. And that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She was brought out of the chaos of her thoughts by the sight of Diana walking in her direction, but doing so as dazedly as Uutresk's disturbed inhabitants. Donnova moved behind a building and watched her until she turned a corner.

This wasn't right. Diana didn't look like she was searching for her; she appeared set on a destination. It occurred to Donnova that if Diana had snuck out on her own, she'd have an alibi if she claimed she went looking for Diana. She could say that she didn't want to lose her while rousing everyone. Weak reasoning, she knew, but it would have to do. Oberkind was still a factor, could still expose her, but she decided she would deal with that if or when that time came.

Keeping to the shadows, she followed Diana until she stopped at the locked trapdoor they had seen earlier. Donnova crouched behind a wheelbarrow and watched as Diana easily pried the lock away with her javelin, opened the trapdoor, and quickly descended out of sight.

As Donnova was about to follow, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She gasped and jerked her head around as Sheila faded into view. "Sheila!" she said, relaxing a bit. "Please never do that again."

"Sorry," Sheila whispered. "What's going on? I woke up just as she was walking out and I followed her. I tried to ask her where she was going, but she won't talk to me. It's like she can't hear me."

_There goes my alibi_, thought Donnova. "Then she is bewitched. We'd better move. From what Oldbano and Uellen told us, only the worst of the worst are taken down there."

Donnova made to get up, but Sheila grabbed her arm. "Wait. Maybe one of us should go get the others. I should have gotten everyone up to begin with. I just didn't think anything bad was going to happen here."

_Didn't think anything bad was going to happen here?_

"No, there isn't time, and we should stay together. Besides, what could possibly happen that you and I couldn't handle?" They exchanged smiles and headed for the trapdoor.

Donnova descended first onto the dark and narrow stairway, with Sheila immediately behind. They reached the bottom where they found the flickering lights of mounted torches illuminating ten doors, five on each side. They noticed right away the last door on the right, which was open, and heard voices from within — one clearly Diana's.

Together, they crept to the edge of the open door and peered inside. But Sheila didn't stay hidden for long.

"Diana! Don't!" she yelled as she ran inside.

Donnova hurried to catch up, drawing her sword. Diana was on her knees, cradling the head of a repulsive wretch of a man in filthy rags.

"Diana, what are you doing?" asked Sheila.

Diana glanced up at Sheila with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Sheila, look! It's Kosar! He's been trapped down here all this time!"

Donnova leaned toward Sheila's ear and said sotto-voce, "Your friend has strange tastes in men."

"That's not Kosar!" Sheila said, more to Diana than in answer to Donnova's remark.

"Diana, listen to me," she went on. "You're under some kind of spell! That's not Kosar!"

"How can you look at him and say that? It _is_ him! We have to help him! We have to get him out of here." Diana raised her javelin to break his chains.

"Diana, stop!" Sheila closed the distance and tried to pull Diana away, but Diana pushed her back.

Donnova stopped Sheila from falling backward. Then, the prisoner was looking at them.

"I am Kosar. And Diana and I are together again," he said.

Donnova felt Sheila relax a little.

"But how can it be you? You. . . . Starfall. . . ." Sheila seemed too shocked to even form her thoughts into words.

Then the wretch turned his eyes to Donnova's and stared hard into them. She felt something like a tingling in her head. Her sight went blurry for a second and then sharpened again.

"It won't work. I never met Kosar," Donnova said to him and quickly moved toward the repulsive prisoner and kicked him away from Diana. He fell back against the wall. When he tried to get up, he was stopped by the glowing tip of Donnova's Sword.

"No! Kosar!" Diana yelled.

Sheila went down on one knee and took Diana by the shoulders to hold her back. "Diana, listen to me! We're friends, right? You've got to trust me. Look at me!"

Finally, Diana tore her eyes away from the man's to look into Sheila's eyes.

Sheila said again, more deliberately and urgently this time, "That's not Kosar. You know it's not. It can't be. Kosar is gone. Remember what Dungeon Master said. Kosar is among the stars; he's home."

Donnova moved her eyes from the man to the girls, watching all closely. Diana's face was full of torment as she looked once more at the man on the floor. She stared at him, and finally must have seen, for a look of horror and confusion replaced her amorous desperation. The javelin shrank, its light faded, and she brought a hand to her mouth.

"Oh god, what's happening to me?" she sobbed. "Just let me go! Leave me alone!" She pushed away from Sheila and ran out of the dungeon.

Donnova gave one last look to the prisoner as the glow from the sword died away. "Let's get out of here," she said to Sheila.

She went for the door, expecting Sheila to be right behind her, but a terrified gasp made her spin around. Sheila had one hand to her chest and the other felt the wall she had backed into. Then, Donnova locked eyes with those of the mangy prisoner, who was now standing, and an instant later, she beheld Venger.

"Venger," said Sheila, her voice shaking.

"Do not fear me. I would never harm you, my beautiful ones." He held out his arms to them. "Come to me," he breathed.

Donnova stepped forward, as did Sheila. It felt the right thing to do, the only thing; to be with him and love him, to do anything he asked. They approached him together.

"I've waited so very long for both of you," Venger said. He smiled and looked to them both. "Oh, my loves, how I have longed for this. How I have wished to serve you and tend your every desire."

Both embraced him. Nestled together, they explored his body as he ran his hands down their sides. Sheila stood on her toes to reach a kiss to his neck.

"All that I am is yours. I am your servant, your slave. . . ." He looked to Donnova. "Release me, and let us go from this place," he whispered to her.

"I _knew_ there was good in you. You're not all evil. I _knew_ you could love," Sheila said to him.

Donnova moved her sword toward the heavy chain that held him as he bent to meet Sheila's mouth.

Sheila parted her lips in anticipation. Their lips had nearly touched as a blinding explosion of brilliant light flared over the entwined trio, shocking them back to their senses. Venger was gone, having reverted back to the disgusting man from before. Anger welled up inside Donnova and she brought the sword back, intent on impaling him.

"Don't," she heard Hank say. She saw the light of his summoned arrow aimed right at her. "I don't care what he did, you're not going to kill him. Let's just get out of here. Now."

She thought of carrying through with her revenge, doubting Hank would actually fire, but she did as he said.

Bobby was waiting outside as the three of them emerged from the trapdoor. He hugged his sister, and then asked her where Uni was.

"We thought Uni might be with you," Hank said in answer to Sheila's confused expression.

"She's not with us. We haven't seen her," Sheila said, and then looked around. "Where's Diana?"

"Looking for Uni with Presto and Eric. I told her she could stay in the guest house since she still looked really shaken up, but she wanted to help," answered Hank. "She told us what happened. She thought the two of you were right behind her."

"We would have been, but the wretch enchanted us, too," Donnova said with a heated malice.

"We'll tell Oldbano what happened later. Right now, the important thing is to find Uni," Hank said.

A surge of adrenaline shot through Donnova. _Uni! Damn him!_ She hadn't thought of it when she'd heard Bobby ask Sheila about the damned little unicorn, she had been thinking of how she wanted to return to finish off the filth down in the dungeon.

Now, she weighed her options carefully. What were the chances the vampire could keep the unicorn hidden and quiet until Hank was willing to give up the search and leave this place? But then, surely, Oldbano's suspicions would immediately lie with Oberkind. Assuming Oldbano was a bit smarter and more capable than he looked, he probably had ways of keeping the vampire in check. Donnova decided not to chance it, that it would be best to deal with this situation now, herself, before anything could come of it.

"We must find her quickly. Anything could happen to her in this place. I'll search the other end." Not caring how it might appear, Donnova headed straight for the stable before Hank could send her off in another direction. She was confident they'd all be more concerned with finding the unicorn than following her. Besides, she had been below, with Sheila and Diana, when they believed it had disappeared. How could they suspect her of having anything to do with its disappearance?

She reached the stable and checked that no one had followed her. Her sword ready, she entered. She was about to demand Oberkind show himself when she heard sounds like erotic moans coupled with soft, inhuman cries coming from the farthest stall. She followed the sounds, and as she crept forward, the mismatched groans of certain pain and certain pleasure chilled her heart as it pounded in her throat. It was like the sounds of a child, drugged or beaten, being raped.

Slowly and carefully, she peeked around the separating wall and saw Uni lying underneath Oberkind. Something wasn't right with Uni's head. It took Donnova a second to realize what was wrong. Her horn was missing! All that was left was a jagged stump atop her misshapen head. It looked as though part of her skull had broken with it and had torn through the skin around the stump.

Donnova was transfixed by the horrible scene. She just stood there, her heart thumping wildly as she watched the vampire voraciously suck the life from the little unicorn. It was too late to do anything for it, and as she witnessed the death, she could imagine — almost feel — the sickening weakness come over her as it had earlier, as though the blood were leaving her the same as it left the helpless unicorn. At last, Uni was silent, and her lifeless form went limp in Oberkind's bare, bony arms.

The vampire threw his head back in ecstasy, obviously quickened by the mystical blood, and Donnova knew then that she had made a mistake in not killing him when she'd had the chance only seconds before. She took a step backwards, thought of making a run for it, but the small movement caused Oberkind to snap his head around toward her. Instantly he smiled as though genuinely glad to see her. He jumped up and grabbed her, jerked her quickly toward him and spun her around and around in a celebratory dance, laughing the whole time. Donnova lost her grip on the sword.

As they spun around again, Donnova fought to spot her weapon in the moonlight. Then, the dancing abruptly stopped. She was released and left staggering, trying to focus.

"No! Her heartbeat. . . . What have I done?" he said.

Donnova leaned against the wall to steady herself.

"I . . . _killed_ her. I . . . couldn't stop. So sweet, the taste of her. I've never felt so _alive_!" He was crying now. "Should have savored it. Should have controlled myself. Didn't mean for her to die. How could I have been so careless! Such waste . . . such waste!

"You! What are you doing here? I will kill you!" he said, and disappeared in the shadows.

Donnova froze. "Wait! They know I'm here. They're looking for her," she said as she slowly turned around, searching the darkness for both her sword and the vampire. "They'll rouse Oldbano," she said louder. "They'll find out. You can't hide this."

He laughed from somewhere, unseen. "They're looking for her. They'll rouse Oldbano. They'll find out. You can't hide this," he mocked.

She took his meaning. Oberkind's exposure meant her own. "It doesn't have to be like this. I'm not here to threaten you. Let's help each other. Give me the three horses, three of your own choosing. And I'll tell them I saw nothing."

"You did not bring me the unicorn. I took her myself. No bargain."

"What happens to you if you kill me? Think of that."

"I care not. I can escape this place when I please. But first, I will kill you for the mere pleasure."

Donnova dropped to the ground and ran her hands along the dirt, feeling over horse excrement and dead rats. Cold, flat metal touched the underside of her chin. Upward pressure moved her to stand.

"And nothing would please me more in this moment than to kill you with your own sword." He moved the blade to her cheek and turned her face to his. "Look at me! I want to know your every thought as you die. Look at me!"

She fought to clear her mind, but couldn't help but think of escape.

"Little fool. You think of running. You think of fighting. Your days of fighting are over. And there is no place you could run that I could not follow. Don't make me kill you too quickly. Yours is a death I would savor, in your mind if not in your blood.

"No one will save you. Even if you scream, who will hear one among so many?" he teased with a predatory grin.

"Everyone," she whispered.

She took a deep breath . . . and screamed.


	13. Chapter 12 Uutresk Unhinged

**Chapter Twelve**

**Uutresk Unhinged**

Hank had sent Sheila and Bobby off together in one direction, while he had gone off alone in another to search for Uni. Sheila had wanted to join Donnova, but he'd argued that Donnova was capable enough on her own and that she and Bobby could cover another area together. Truthfully, he still wanted to keep Sheila and Donnova apart as much as possible. He felt there was something not quite right about the night's events, but, once again, it was only a feeling. He couldn't piece it all together in a way that satisfied his suspicion. He regretted now that he hadn't taken Diana's advice in the first place and gone right past this place.

He looked around, hoping not to alarm those around him. He did not dare make eye contact with those he knew were watching him. He tried to act casual and not like someone trying desperately to find someone. He wondered if he should have woken Oldbano from the beginning, but he'd wanted to get out and start looking immediately.

He'd told everyone to do their best not to disturb anyone there, reminding them of the nature of the place. If one of them found Uni, they were to calmly walk to the rest to call off the search quietly. Of course, Donnova had run off before he could give her that instruction, not that she would have listened anyway.

He was doing it again, he realized — thinking of her as if she was a viper among them. She helped Sheila with Diana, didn't she? And she was out helping look for Uni now.

Still. . . . When Diana had gone out alone, she was under some kind of enchantment. She hadn't known what she was doing. But why didn't Sheila and Donnova wake everyone? It must have been Donnova's idea, he reasoned. Sheila would've handled it differently on her own. But then, he remembered how she'd gone off alone to help Kareena. He had wanted to get Sheila's story about what happened earlier, but finding Uni was the priority.

Where was she? If she were in trouble, she could teleport herself away, couldn't she? She would cry out. Even in the noise of the sanctuary's inhabitants, he felt he should be able to distinguish Uni's cry.

But he couldn't keep Uni in his thoughts. He realized that, though he was looking for her in all directions, he might easily have looked right over her without realizing it. His thoughts were with Sheila. The prisoner below had obviously enchanted Sheila, and Donnova as well. Had they seen the same person? Who had they seen? Hank dared to wonder if it had been himself. He hated the rush, however small, that he felt at the thought of Donnova's having anything like a passionate regard for him, but he couldn't deny it. He even wondered if maybe he was trying so hard to hate her because he was ashamed that there was a part of him that was excited by her.

No, that wasn't it. No. She was attractive enough, but not his type. He wondered what her type may be. There was no telling.

A scrape in the darkness to his left drew his attention, but he saw only a wooden crate between two buildings. Hoof against wood? he wondered. He watched it for a moment. He had almost turned away when again he heard a scrape he could imagine came from within.

"Uni?"

Slowly, he stepped over to it, lifted its lid, and peered into the darkness.

Then he was dropping the lid and his bow to cover his ears. His insides vibrated. He fell to his knees. His eyes watered. He fought to breathe against the pressure on his chest. His mind begged it to stop.

And then it did, as abruptly as it'd begun. It left such a dreadful silence in its wake that he couldn't bring himself to move and, for a moment, he believed he'd gone deaf. But, no, he heard his own labored breathing.

_Donnova!_

Then . . . chaos. The initial shock over, a maddened craze ensued in the wake of the ear-piercing scream.

He grabbed his bow and sprang up, heading for the stable. Everyone was crying and screaming and running in all directions — some running to hide, some running mindlessly into the night. Bodies colliding, bodies falling, savage fighting breaking out around him, Hank fought his way through. There was no room to bring up the bow; it was difficult enough keeping a grip upon it in the swarm of frightened and confused people.

Someone grabbed his hair from behind. Another hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him backward. Someone had his free arm. Another pulled at his bow. He felt claws at his back. Something wrapped around his knee. He was going down. He looked up to see something running straight for him, looking him right in the eye. The creature jumped at him, but was suddenly snatched out of the air and flung away.

It was Bitsnout! The orc extended his only arm, and Hank grabbed the large green hand and was effortlessly pulled to his feet — those behind him having released him and fled. Hank shouted his thanks as the orc moved on, but he could not hear even his own voice in the bedlam. And then the orc was lost in the crowd as he went about — Hank hoped not futilely — trying to separate everyone.

Hank went on as best he could. He was nearly at the stable now. He saw Diana and Presto and Eric. Diana and Eric were holding ground at the stable while Presto tried to make something happen with his hat. It didn't look like he was having any luck. A spark and a puff of smoke was all that came from it. It was a wonder he was able to try at all. But then, that corner of Uutresk was fairly open. For whatever reason, it seemed no one wanted to linger there.

And then he saw Sheila uncloak — Bobby, too — as she had held him tightly against herself. He locked eyes with Sheila, almost smiled in relief that she was safe, but the fear and urgency in her expression alarmed him. He could see her shouting something at him, but he couldn't hear. She tried again, this time pointing across to the dividing wall — the barrier that separated the merely disfunctional from the violently insane.

What he saw made his stomach lurch. There were arms and tentacles and faces and horns, all sticking out through the wall. Thunderous beating could be heard coming from the other side. They had to hurry. But hurry and do what? They were overwhelmed already!

He reached the others — just in time, he thought, as Presto began waving his hand above his hat again, bringing a glow.

"Maybe I could—" Presto began.

Hank stopped his hand. "Better not."

"Right," said Presto dejectedly.

Hank turned to Eric, who was helping Diana keep the people at bay. "We need a wall!"

Eric nodded, understanding. "I'll try!" He held the shield out toward the crowd and a spreading translucence began separating them. Diana ran along the shield wall, using her javelin to push stragglers to their own side. "I don't know how long this'll hold, so make it snappy," said Eric.

"We still have to find Uni!" Bobby hoarsely shouted to everyone.

"There she is!" Presto suddenly yelled.

Everyone turned. Hank had expected Uni, but it was Donnova running out of the stable. And close behind her was something else.

A tall, naked man ran toward her and wrapped his arms around her. Blood was pouring out of his ears and down his face from his eyes. Donnova dropped her sword and pulled at the arms that held her.

"My ears! You will pay for what you've done! I'll kill you! I'll rip you apaaart!" he roared.

"Hank! Shoot him!" Donnova coughed and wheezed against the arms wrapped around her. "Shoot him!"

Hank hesitated, but then brought up his bow and summoned an arrow. He didn't have a clear shot. He kept the arrowhead trained on the naked man, but he couldn't risk hitting Donnova as they struggled.

* * *

Why wasn't he firing? The incompetent fool!

Donnova could hardly breathe. The vampire's preternatural strength could break her in half at any moment. What was Oberkind waiting for? Was he so weakened by the loss of blood? If only Hank would fire! The magical bow redefined precision, she knew, yet he hesitated. Maybe he was hoping she'd be crushed first, she thought.

She looked around, her mind racing, and then her eyes caught sight of the boy and his club, and an idea sprang into her mind. If the Ranger would not act. . . .

"He killed Uni!" she yelled, searching her brain for the little Barbarian's name.

His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. "What!"

Her hands and arms were going numb from the vampire's grip. _His name! What the hells is his—? Bobby!_ "She's dead, Bobby!"

"Uni? Nooo!"

Sheila had said her little brother was hot-headed, and now Donnova saw that fire within him as he ran forward with his club raised.

"Bobby! Wait!" Hank yelled.

As she'd hoped, none of them were quick enough to stop him. He brought the club down with a force Donnova hadn't thought possible of the child. She and Oberkind went down. All around were the sounds of cracking, crumbling, crashing, neighing. She was almost able to pull free enough to grab her sword, but the vampire had her pinned face-down on the ground.

But then she felt him release her. Gulping in air, she shot an aching arm out for her sword and wrapped stiff fingers around its hilt. She twisted up to face the vampire. He stood over her, lips drawn back to reveal fangs covered in his own blood — blood that still ran from his ruined ears, dripped from his eyes and nose.

He raised a foot, aiming it right at her face. In another second, she'd be dead, and there was no way for her to stop him.

She cringed and heard the impact, the sickening crunch. But it wasn't she who had been hit. She opened her eyes. Oberkind was nowhere to be seen. A horse jumped over her, causing her to flinch.

She hurried to her feet, looking around. The stable wasn't much more than a jagged woodpile. The fence around the corral was down. And there was a sizable hole where part of the southeast wall had fallen.

And the horses. . . . She watched as they took turns trampling Oberkind to a bloody pulp. Oberkind, stomped to death by his own horses, his flesh and bones strewn underfoot. Donnova watched the vengeful scene play out in front of her with a respect she'd never before felt for these lower beasts.

_Well, dead vampires tell no tales._

Then there was a sound like an explosion far behind her. As she'd feared, the dividing wall had fallen. She noticed also the many fires that had sprung up in the chaos. All the more light by which to see the murderous horde rushing their way.

* * *

"Hank!" Sheila yelled.

Hank was struggling to keep a crying, screaming Bobby from running into the collapsed stable. It was taking all his strength to keep a grip on him. He had managed to get his club away from him; Presto had it now — he had needed something to keep his hands occupied. But Hank didn't need to look up now at Sheila's urgent warning to know that the separating wall of Uutresk had just given way. He'd heard it. It was a sound he was likely never to forget.

"What can we do?" Diana said.

"I can't hold this!" Eric yelled. Hank whipped his head around, and indeed the energy of his shield was phasing out in places. Now Eric cried out as it gave completely, and he was pushed back by the mass of people as their mania renewed and the new danger. He staggered backwards until he tripped and fell to the ground.

"Get to the horses!"

It was Donnova. She was literally dragging Eric back to his feet.

Sheila suddenly wrenched Bobby from Hank's arms and was dragging him with her. "Hank, let's go!" Bobby was still screaming Uni's name. "I'm sorry, Bobby! She's gone! We gotta go!" she told him.

"No, Sheila, no! I won't leave her!" Bobby cried as he was moved along.

Hank looked around. There had to be something they could do to help. They couldn't just leave.

Then something caught his eye. Was that Oldbano? It was! And Uellen was atop his head, hanging on for dear life. She was just a spec at this distance, but he saw her tiny head turn his direction. Dread froze his heart.

_No . . . don't do it._

And then the little, wingless fairie dragon did the one thing he'd prayed she wouldn't.

She jumped.

She jumped from head to head in the tumultuous crowd, trying to make her way to him. She'd done it without thinking, without looking back.

Y_ou can't make it! Please go back! Oh God!_

"Hank, come on!" Donnova shouted.

His mind was racing, but he could think of nothing to do to help her, to help any of them. Anything they tried would probably make everything worse.

"Come on! Let's go!" she shouted again.

Then she was pulling him. He looked at her, and beyond her he saw Eric, Presto, Diana, Sheila and Bobby all on horses that were stamping and whinnying in agitation. From atop their mounts, Diana and Eric protected the others as well as they could.

"Wait! We have to help them!" he cried, trying to pull away.

"We can't help them!"

"But—"

"They're coming! We have to go now!"

"Hank, _please_!" Sheila cried desperately.

He looked to Sheila, and then to Bobby clinging to her from behind with his face buried in her cloak.

There were two horses left. Donnova was heading toward one.

A crazed woman suddenly ran up and grabbed Donnova from behind as she was mounting her horse and pulled her back down to the ground. Donnova didn't hesitate to draw her sword and cut the defenseless woman down.

It was that that decided him. Upon seeing this, he realized that staying might actually cause more deaths than there would already be. Still hating himself for abandoning all of Uutresk to their fate, he ran and jumped onto the last horse's back. What choice did they have? He looked back one more time at the chaotic scene, but this time did not see Uellen or Oldbano or Bitsnout anywhere. What chance did any of them have?

Ahead of him, the others were jumping the rubble, through the ruined wall and out into the night. He could only follow.

* * *

They were still going at a steady gallop, but not riding as hard as they had been at first. Hank looked behind them to see only the moonlit plain, same as the last time he'd looked behind them a moment ago. He could no longer see even the rising smoke in the air from the fires set alight inside Uutresk. They had been riding for a while. The danger was surely well behind them.

Uellen. Oldbano. Bitsnout. Had they survived? Were they still fighting for their lives back there? Had there really been nothing they could have done? Their hosts had extended welcoming hospitality to them all, and what had they given them in return? Destruction. Death.

"There's water!"

Donnova's shout brought Hank from his haunting thoughts. He looked over at her.

"Back through there." She pointed. "Reflected moonlight. A pond. The horses should drink."

They all came to a stop and gratefully dismounted and stretched themselves. Hank was walking toward the horse that carried Sheila and Bobby, but Donnova moved in front of him and helped them down herself. He couldn't help but feel she'd done it intentionally.

"Are you all right?" she asked Sheila.

Sheila rubbed her hands together. "Yeah. Just a bit sore."

Donnova placed a hand on her arm and smiled warmly. "Rest."

Sheila nodded and sat next to her brother who sat, weeping, with his head in his hands.

Donnova turned to Eric. "Stay with them." To Presto she said, "We need saddles." Presto nodded, sat on the ground, removed his hat and rubbed at his neck. "Hank, Diana, and I can see to the horses." She looked to Diana, who nodded and stepped toward the one nearest her.

"No," said Hank. "Donnova and I can manage alone. You've been through enough for one night, Diana."

He saw a flash of protest in Diana's eyes, but she nodded and went to kneel beside Sheila and Bobby.

He looked at Donnova and saw in her eyes that his underlying message had not gone unnoticed.

The trip to the pond was silent, but that silence ended upon reaching it.

"You didn't have to kill her," he said.

"Her?"

"That woman. She was afraid. She only wanted to escape that place."

"The one who pulled me from my horse," she said, as though remembering last week's episode of some television show. "You can't fault me that, surely."

"What about Oldbano and Uellen? What if those people destroyed the entire city? We owed them our protection! We shouldn't have left!"

Her expression turned cold, icy even, in the moonlight. "Why should _you_ care about their fate?"

Hank didn't want to take the bait, and he knew it was just that, but curiosity fueled by indignation got the better of him.

"What's _that_ suppose to mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it." She crouched at the edge of the water, cupped a handful, and put it to her lips.

"How am I supposed to forget _that_? Just tell me what you meant!"

She spat the water. "Very well. How can you claim to care about them, or anyone, when you allowed the greatest threat in the Realm to live?"

Hank tensed, his face went hot, and his heart began pounding in his chest. How did she know about that? Did everyone in the Realm know about it? But then the answer came to him.

"Sheila. . . ."

He had to calm himself, had to keep control and think. He couldn't let her use this against him! But no words would come. He wasn't prepared to have had this thrown at him. All he could think of right now was that he'd never hated Donnova more than in this moment.

She rose. "We're friends, she and I. We share our tales. One of which happened to be the one about the day Venger was at your mercy in the Dragons' Graveyard, where, at the crucial moment, you became weak."

"I didn't become weak! I—"

"Outnumbered, overpowered, _restrained, even_, and yet he still defeated you! And it _was_ defeat! He was at your mercy, and he deserved none!"

Hank wanted to be angry, he wanted to protest, but couldn't. There was a part of him that agreed with her. He'd been wrestling with that part of himself ever since the first arrow flew to release Venger. She had him, and he hated it. All his hatred for Venger, and all his own self-hatred since, was turning itself on Donnova. He felt a heated rage begin to boil within himself, much like the murderous anger that had once set him on Venger's destruction.

She went on, "All the unspeakable atrocities, all the dread in the hearts and minds of the beings who inhabit this realm, and _you let him live_! I would do anything for the chance to make that choice!"

"You would have killed him?"

She looked at him as though insulted by such a question. "How could _you_ not! How could you pass up a—"

"I just wanted to show him! I wanted him to know how it feels! I thought it would change—"

"Venger is not a child!" she said. With a sigh of frustration, she turned away from him, only to turn back again. "How could you presume to teach _him_ a lesson in morality? He is an evil that serves a far greater evil. . . . And are _you_ not evil for letting him continue?"

He killed her ten different ways in his mind.

She wasn't finished. "What of the dead and downtrodden left in his wake? What of the lands he and his armies have ravaged? What of Edonlea? How many lives has he devastated since your fateful decision? And how many of those would understand your reasons? How many could forgive you, Hank?"

"If I had killed him, I would have been no better than he was! Can't you understand that?"

He didn't know if _he_ understood it anymore, if he ever really did. But he could think of no other defense against her verbal onslaught. He had been plagued with all these thoughts already. It was his private battle. Intensely private. She was speaking these things that he would have kept hidden. It was like she was ripping him apart and exposing the deepest, ugliest parts of him — those parts that he only recently felt that he'd come to terms with. His pain was like a wound not only reopened, but made worse than before.

His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists.

"No better than he? You would have been a _champion_, Hank, remembered and revered through the ages! Instead, you are an accessory to evil, a servant of evil! _You are Venger's accomplice_!"

He hadn't known he was actually going to punch her until there was no stopping the fist aimed at her face. The next thing he knew, she was on the ground, staring up at him with fingers to her bloody lips. In this darkness, her blood looked black.

Hank was breathing hard, exhilarated. Hitting her felt so damned good! But he had been wrong to have done it. She had _made_ him do it, he felt. But, no, only he could be responsible for his own actions.

He was so tired of walking that line between right and wrong.

He heard the others coming and considered how this might look to them. _Damn it!_ But he found he really didn't care right now. Sheila was now kneeling at Donnova's side. Eric was standing between them, his shield favoring Donnova. Even Bobby had come; he was standing behind Eric. Diana was seeing to the horses, as though she wanted to be close, to be helpful, but didn't want to get involved. Presto had never come the full distance.

Hank didn't care about them right now. It wasn't finished; he had something left to say.

"I did it for us, for my friends! I wanted to set an example! I'm not evil! And I _don't_ serve Venger! I _hate_ Venger!"

No one said anything. Donnova got up, and then collected the other horses to lead away. Then she stopped and half turned to look at him again. "You'll be the death of us all," she said before she turned and began walking the horses back, Sheila at her side. They walked past Presto who whispered, "Donnova, we have saddles." Donnova nodded an acknowledgment and kept going.

Eric turned a sidelong glare at Hank. Hank didn't like the look. He had the feeling that Eric had just taken Donnova's side without so much as caring what their argument had been about — not that he would have told him. Then Eric turned away and followed Donnova and Sheila. Bobby followed Eric, and they were soon joined by Presto.

That's when it occurred to him that this was just what Donnova wanted. She had enticed him to violence just so his friends would see him lose control of himself. And he had fallen for it. He hit a woman who hadn't even hit first, and hadn't hit back. She was trying to turn his friends against him! But there was no proof. There never was.

Or perhaps it was merely a deflection, he thought. She hadn't liked his accusing her, so she accused him of something worse to throw him off.

"Hank? You OK?"

It was Diana. The only one who was willing to talk to him, the last one left standing by him. They knew and understood each other, he felt. He was glad to have her at his side now.

"Yeah. I'm OK. Thanks." And he meant those thanks, more than he was capable of expressing at the moment.


	14. Chapter 13 Death's Pass

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Death's Pass**

They had made camp where they had stopped in the night. No one had gotten much sleep in Uutresk, and Hank wanted them alert when they reached Death's Pass. Bobby had not slept. And sleep didn't come easily for anyone else with Uni's death still fresh on their minds. Like himself, the ones who did sleep likely felt a certain guilt for doing so. Sheila had done her best with her little brother, but Bobby was so full of grief. Presto had managed to conjure up a few toys that Bobby could hardly look at. Even Eric had tried to get through to him. Then Sheila had slept with her arm around him through the night as he lay awake.

Hank was thankful that everyone — including Donnova, who was bruising on the right side of her mouth — seemed willing to put last night's incident by the pond behind them. At least for now.

Hank now rode close to Bobby and Sheila. Bobby held to Sheila's back on their horse. His eyes were open, but there was no life in them. They were all worried about Bobby. He wouldn't eat; he couldn't sleep; and he had hardly spoken since leaving Uutresk. The only time he had spoken was to ask Donnova how Uni had looked — if she appeared to have suffered much. Donnova answered simply that death was a release from all mortal pain. Hank couldn't tell if that had helped Bobby or not.

Of course, no one could feel Uni's death the way Bobby did. They had always understood that the little unicorn was more than a pet to him. She had been more than a pet to them all, but to Bobby, she was truly special. She was more than his friend, and he understood her when the others didn't. She was someone for him to protect, which, Hank thought, perhaps gave Bobby a sense of purpose that made him feel less of a child among them. Now that was gone. He knew Uni's death would be with Bobby for the rest of his life.

Hank also knew that Bobby understood that they had to keep moving. He felt that the longer this journey lasted, the more at risk they were. Though he hadn't made an appearance so far, he felt sure Venger had to be looking for them. And with the blazing, chaotic scene they left behind at the sanctuary, he was anxious to get to Realm's Edge, find the Empyreal Tower, and rescue Venger's prisoner before Venger caught up with them.

With the mountains in view, he no longer needed the map Dungeon Master had given him. Still, he had given it one last look before they'd started out this morning. Death's Pass was a passageway that cut straight through the base of the largest mountain of the vast range that extended from a faraway chasm on one side, to a boiling sea far on the other. He wondered whether the pass was some kind of natural formation or a man-made one. Maybe dragon-made . . . maybe something else. He had wondered about its name, too. After hearing what Oldbano had said about no one making it back from Realm's Edge, he hoped it wasn't that aptly named. He wondered what dangers awaited them.

For now, though, it was pleasantly sunny and breezy, the horses were cooperative, and Donnova was mercifully quiet. No one seemed to be in a talkative mood as they closed the distance to the mountains.

He thought back to the map. On it, there had been a dot directly in front of the pass with no indication as to what it represented. Maybe it was nothing. They really didn't need an obstacle to overcome when they got there. He was sure none of them were in a mood to fight or to solve any puzzle or riddle. He'd ignored the dot before — an accidental drop of ink, perhaps — but the closer they got to the pass, the more it troubled him. More and more, he wondered what it might be.

For another hour they rode, and now he did see something, like a rock, immediately before the aperture. He kept his eyes on it as they approached. Soon he could see there was a distinct shape to it. Closer. It was a statue. Closer. Recognition. His heart beat faster.

"No way!" Presto suddenly shouted. "Do you guys see what I see?"

"It's— It's The Thinker!" said Diana.

They all voiced their surprise and excitedly picked up their pace to reach the familiar sculpture. Soon, they were dismounting and gathering closer to it.

"This really _is_ the way home! It's gotta be!" Presto said.

Hank allowed himself to smile and to share in the hope that this was indeed a sort of sign that they would soon be home. Finally home. To see this famous statue that so many people on Earth recognized. . . . He almost laughed. He almost cried.

But then Donnova said, "On my world, we call this 'The Dweller'."

Hank twisted around to look at her. This had gotten everyone's attention. "You've seen this before?" Hank asked, that feeling of hope quickly and inexplicably slipping away.

"Yes. There's one on my world just like it," she answered blandly.

"But how could it be on both worlds? I mean, on all _three_ worlds!" Diana said.

No one seemed to have an answer for that.

"There was that place like Stonehenge. Remember?" Sheila said.

"And the Crystal of Chronos was on top of what looked like an Aztec pyramid!" Presto added.

"But what does it mean?" asked Diana.

What _did_ it mean? Did it mean anything at all? Parallels, Hank told himself. That's all they were, right? He had always made himself simply accept them and pushed the questions from his mind. Why ask what could never, or would never, be answered?

"I think . . . that the answers are as varied as the minds of those who dwell upon them, and each worthy of contemplation."

Hank turned around and froze upon hearing the dulcet voice.

The Thinker's head had lifted from where it had rested on his hand. He was looking at them! He then stood, stepping off and away from where he had sat on his platform of rock. He had to be at least ten feet tall. And he was nude. Hank had forgotten that The Thinker was a nude work. Thankfully, he hadn't been thinking about anything stimulating.

"Who are you?" Hank asked.

"The Thinker," said the standing sculpture, with a spreading of his palms.

"But to me, you are The Dweller," said Donnova, coming forward to stand even with Hank.

The living statue looked at her, his expression one of infinite patience and understanding, and said, "I am that, too, and I am known also on other worlds by other names."

"Why are you here?" asked Hank. By now, his hope was utterly gone.

"To serve the Balance," he answered, stating it plainly.

Hank remembered Venger's telling him that he had restored the Balance after Demodragon was destroyed. He thought he'd understood what it meant, but was now no longer sure. He wished he wasn't the type to assume so much.

"Death's Pass is cursed by The Force of Evil's own hand," he continued. "It would take more powerful magic than any of you should ever hope to possess in order to successfully traverse it. Venger meant for all who dare venture beyond this boundary to die."

Hopelessness. Anger. Why did Dungeon Master always leave out such details? What was his game? And why did he play it with _them_? What had any of them done to deserve this? He wanted to shout to the sky for Dungeon Master to come and answer for this, for _everything_!

"But it need not be so," The Thinker went on. "I offer a chance. A way may be made. Death is the key. One of you must choose to willingly die so that all may pass untouched by Venger's curse."

A chorus of protests erupted behind Hank. He would have joined in if he had been able to speak through the shock of this unexpected pronouncement. Even if one of them did offer himself as a sacrifice, how could he allow it? How could he live with it? He was their leader. Did that mean he should be the one to offer his own death? He would not ask it of any of them, and he could not choose among them.

Donnova entered his mind as a good choice of sacrifice, but he ended that thought. He felt bad for its having even crossed his mind for an instant. But it was instructive. He realized that if he didn't act quickly, they could end up fighting over who it would be. They could kill each other in an argument over which should die! He didn't like to think them capable of it, but he knew how quickly things could unravel under pressure. Or under threat of death.

He turned around and looked at them. He saw that Donnova hadn't joined in to voice her contempt. Instead, she had positioned herself to keep all within view and was looking warily into his eyes, as though fighting to read his thoughts, or urging him to come to the conclusion she'd likely already reached. Her hands were at her sides, but looked ready to draw her sword in an instant. He knew that she saw what could happen here, and he knew he couldn't let it begin.

"Hey! All of you! Quiet!" Not only did they not stop, but they were now all at once trying to plead their cases to him. Among the fracas, he heard Donnova's name, Dungeon Master's, Uni's, and even his own.

He was about to draw back on his bow and aim right over their heads when he thought he heard Eric say something that he couldn't have said. But then everyone quickly quieted down. They'd heard it, too. All were now staring at Eric with shocked faces.

"What did you say, Eric?" Diana said, tremulously.

Eric looked at the ground. "I said— I said, 'I'll do it.'"

And then all fell into shameful silence. Hank understood. He was guilty, too. Someone had to die, and here was a volunteer. Talking their volunteer out of doing something that had to be done for the good of the rest seemed foolish on one hand, and the right thing to do on the other. But. . . .

Eric removed his shield from his arm and presented it to Presto. "Here, Presto, you hold on to that. Of all of us, I think you need it most." He gave his best friend a genuine smile. Presto just stood, staring at him, open-mouthed.

No one was saying anything against it. This was happening too fast, being accepted too quickly. And something else wasn't right. Eric wasn't shaming everyone for not trying to talk him out of it. He wasn't being indignant at their silence and what it meant.

"Eric, you can't be serious," Sheila said. He ignored her and began walking through them toward the Pass, toward death.

Diana hurried in front of him. "OK, Eric, you got us. Good one. Now, come on and—"

"I love you, too, Diana," Eric told her.

Diana froze in stunned silence. They looked into each others' eyes for a moment, and then she watched as Eric started again away from them. Two heartbeats later, she went after him. She grabbed his arm, and in one smooth motion, Eric turned and their lips met. They stood there, kissing, wrapped in each others' arms like long-time lovers.

Hank couldn't believe his eyes, and he also couldn't believe he'd never realized their true feelings for each other. But it made a lot of sense, suddenly. Then why was Eric still going through with this! He had something to live for! They released each other — more like Eric released her. He had to remove her hands from him, but he did so tenderly. And then Diana was looking at Hank, as though begging him to stop Eric.

It was that look that decided him. He couldn't let this happen. He went and grabbed Eric himself. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I know what I'm doing. And I know what _you're_ doing, and it's appreciated. You're a good leader, Hank. Take care of that bunch, will ya?"

"Stop it, Eric! No one's gonna die. There has to be another way."

"There's not, Hank, you heard him."

Hank turned to The Thinker, feeling more and more like he should be rallying them against the living statue, but knowing it would be wrong. The Thinker shook his head. "He is right. There is no other way."

"Well, that's not good enough! No one's dying for this! The deal's off!" He looked back the way they came, toward the sky. "Do you hear me, Dungeon Master? You can forget it! It's over! We're—!"

"Hank, stop it! I'm gonna do this, and all of you can get through and finally go home."

"Eric, you don't have to do this!"

"_Yes, I do_!"

Hank looked around, searching for an answer, his mind spinning. He was their leader, and the oldest male among them. "I'll do it. I'll go. It should be me."

"No, Hank, you don't understand! It _has_ to be me! It _has_ to! Don't try to stop me. I'm doing this!"

"Why, Eric? Why does it have to be you?" He grabbed his shoulders and roughly shook him. "Tell me! Tell me why!" He felt tears coming, but he didn't care.

"Don't cry for me, Hank," he said, speaking so that only Hank could hear. And with a nod toward their friends, he added, "And don't let them cry for me, either."

Hank stared at him for a moment, willing him to answer his question, but he didn't. Eric's mind seemed made up. There was nothing else to do, nothing else to say. He made himself let go, slowly, and as soon as he did, Eric went on.

Hank watched him pause before The Thinker, who gestured toward the darkened entrance to Death's Pass. "Enter," he said. Eric turned back for one last look at them. The Thinker held up his right hand to him. "Die well, brave Cavalier." And so, Eric turned and entered, quickly fading from view.

For a moment, Hank couldn't move. Only when he heard the sounds of weeping did he turn. Diana was crying in Presto's arms, Sheila in Donnova's. Bobby stood alone, no little unicorn to comfort him, staring at the opening within the mountain with wide eyes and open mouth. Hank went to him.

"He really did it, Hank," said Bobby, looking more like the child he was than ever.

"I know." Hank couldn't think of anything else to say to that. Words escaped him.

"Why?" The innocence in Bobby's young voice pulled at his heart, brought the tears down his own face.

He knelt to the child's level. "I don't know, Bobby. We never will. But he did this for us, and we must never forget what he did today."

Bobby suddenly grabbed Hank in a tight hug and sobbed. "I want Uni," he said, his little voice muffled against Hank's tunic. "I want Mom."

Hank closed his eyes and held tightly to him. _Damn you, Dungeon Master. . . . Damn you._


	15. Chapter 14 Eric's Passing

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Eric's Passing**

Eric turned and took one last look at his friends. His gaze fell on Diana and lingered there. Had they really just shared a Realm-shattering kiss? Yes, they had, and it was a kiss that said so much: I love you, Diana; I'm sorry, Diana; Goodbye, Diana. It was the best kiss of his life and, for whatever it meant, it was a kiss he would cherish for the rest of his life.

Not that he'd kissed many girls in his life. There had been that red-haired girl in seventh grade who'd had a crush on him. Everyone had known about it. What was her name? Carla? Carmen? He couldn't remember. She'd changed schools after the first semester. He had kissed her on a dare . . . and she had followed him around for weeks afterward. And then there was Melissa in eighth grade — the blonde Melissa, not the brunette. He'd kissed her, with tongue and all, more than a few times. She had seemed so into him . . . until he'd found that letter to one of her girlfriends in which she'd admitted she only liked him because he was rich. He remembered that Presto had tried to warn him about her. Yeah, he remembered now. . . . It was when he and Presto were sitting in that coffee house, eating the best blueberry and cream cheese croissants he'd ever tasted.

_Oh God, my life is passing before my eyes!_

The Thinker spoke. _What did he say? "Time to die, Cavalier."?_

Eric turned and faced his chosen fate, made his legs carry him forward into the dark wide crack of an opening. _This is my choice. Selfless act, and all that, right? This has got to get me in good with The Good Guy upstairs. Ultimate sacrifice for the good of others. The good of the many, um, outweighs the good of the one. The good of the few or the one, that's it! I'll show you, you stupid, evil, ugly . . . Yeah, that's right! I know you're ugly! I know first hand, don't I?_

Everything around him darkened, causing him to look wildly in all directions. Behind him, he discovered that what had been the opening to Death's Pass was now solid rock. He was blocked off from his friends, from Diana. He touched it to make sure it was real. Rock solid. Real. Or, at least, it was real for him, and that was all that mattered.

"You disobeyed me, Cavalier."

Eric jumped and turned to see Dungeon Master with the sternest look on his wrinkled face that he'd ever seen.

"Dungeon Master! You gotta help me! I don't _really_ have to die, do I? I mean, I'll do anything! There's gotta be someth—"

"Foolish boy!"

Eric whirled around to see Venger's livid face and cried out in terrified surprise.

"You think to redeem yourself with your sacrifice? There _is_ no redemption! Your death will only _serve_ me," Venger roared.

Eric backed away from him and dove behind Dungeon Master. "D-Dungeon Master! Help! Do something!"

Dungeon Master turned and looked down at him. "You disobeyed me," he repeated.

"I didn't mean to! It just happened! It was an accident!"

It wasn't fair! he thought. Dungeon Master had told them that Evil would reveal its face before it attacked. It was reflex that had caused him to look up. _Tell someone not to look, and what're they gonna do? They're gonna look! It's not my fault! You didn't tell us _why_ we shouldn't look!_ But that simply wouldn't do. No one else had looked, had they? And so no one knew that _he_ had. It was something he'd never been able to confess to them.

He had disobeyed Dungeon Master's order and found that he couldn't then take his eyes from those of whom Venger had called "He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken." _Venger wouldn't even speak the name! That's gotta say something!_

Then the nightmares came. They were more than nightmares. Sometimes he awoke within a nightmare, floating in pure darkness, speaking words he didn't know, fighting to stop speaking them — whatever they were — and losing. The name of Evil. He knew he had heard it, but he could never recall it — not that he at all wanted to.

"All I can do for you I have already done," said Dungeon Master, and with that, he disappeared.

"No! Don't go! You can't leave me here! With _him_!"

"You're only salvation lies in surrender. Surrender, and let me be your guide in a new realm — a realm your child's mind could never fathom. Serve me, and live as you have never lived before!"

Without being given the opportunity to answer, Venger's wings flared out with a loud snap and just as quickly folded to enclose Eric. He was pitched into nothingness, tumbling forward, falling downward, thrown backward. His stomach lurched, and lurched again. He felt he was becoming sick with disorientation.

And then he opened his eyes and saw red. He jerked his head up and around, wondering how long he'd been asleep, or whatever this loss of time was that he felt. Every direction looked the same: rock ceiling, rock floor, rows upon rows of tapered pillars of rock, and an eerie light that cast a red glow all about. More, there was an incessant sound of faraway moaning and groaning, wailing and screaming, all mixed together so that one cry couldn't be distinguished from another. It was terrible to hear. And there was also a bad odor he couldn't identify. Like . . . no, he couldn't tell; he knew only that it stank.

_Venger killed me. I'm dead and I'm in Hell!_ He remembered thinking once that he'd died and gone to Heaven. He had been relieved that it'd been quick and painless. He'd never felt that dead-on strike by the Guardian. But, in reality, he had only been transported to the Dungeon at the Heart of Dawn to be reunited with his friends after Dungeon Master's power had been restored there. It had been Venger who had burst his bubble of Heavenly expectations. This, though . . . this _had_ to be Hell. It was hot and stuffy and stinky . . . and red.

_Hmm . . . I don't feel any different._ He looked at his gloved hands, ran them through his hair. He blinked and took a deep breath, and nearly gagged from the stench of the place.

He thought to call out, but he was sure he didn't want whatever might be lurking around to find him. Taking a few cautious steps forward, he looked around again. Now he saw something that had before been hidden from his view by one of the columns. Upon seeing it, he froze and went cold despite the oppressive air.

It was another statue, but there was nothing benevolent about this one. Though he was sure he had never seen it before, it was familiar in a nightmarish way. And there before it knelt Venger, bending low on one knee.

Eric felt the absence of his friends like he'd never felt it before. Lost and alone in this horrid place with its sickening smell and those terrible sounds and that evil statue and, maybe, a visit from the Force of Evil from time to time. . . . Was this all he had to look forward to, _into eternity_? Would he just exist as . . . whatever he now was forever, here?

_It isn't fair! I don't deserve this!_ He'd wanted to shout it out loud, but didn't dare. What good would it do, anyway? He was here, and there was no going back, was there?

Eric stood there and just stared at Venger for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was to get any closer to either that statue or to Venger, but Venger was the only other living thing here, as far as he could tell. Venger was the only one who could tell him what was going on. He decided he really had no choice. He even found that he feared Venger's leaving him there alone. At least Venger was someone he recognized. And since he was already dead — _and already in Hell_ — what more could Venger do to him?

This wasn't the time to be timid. He walked the distance to Venger's kneeling form like he was about to give orders to his butler. When he reached him, he said, "So, this is Hell, huh? I thought it'd be a lot hotter. You know, hellfire and brimstone and all that?"

But Venger didn't move. Eric watched him and waited. Maybe he was finishing some kind of evil prayer or something, he thought. Another moment passed. "Uh, V-Venger?" Still Venger did not move. He was as still as the statue Eric now refused to look at.

Thinking himself crazy for doing it, he slowly reached a hand toward Venger and touched a folded wing. Nothing. He nudged his shoulder. The surface wasn't the right texture — too hard and smooth — but he looked entirely real. It was like pushing on a life-sized, finely detailed porcelain statue. His next thought was to try kicking him, but he decided that that might be going a little too far. He pushed again, harder this time. No movement at all. It didn't make any sense.

It seemed he was alone, after all. And was it his imagination, or was the moaning and groaning getting louder? It felt a bit hotter, too. He also had the feeling he was being watched. As wide open a place as this was, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. His heart was racing. _If I'm dead, why do I have a heartbeat?_ He pulled at his collar and turned back to Venger.

"Hey, get up! Cut it out already! Look at me! Say something! _Look at me_!" He didn't care anymore; he kicked him in the face as hard as he could. After striking Venger's hard, unmoving surface, he had to hop backwards to regain his balance. He waited for his foot to start hurting, but he felt no pain.

Breathing heavily, he put his hands on his hips and looked around in irritation as he wiped away the sweat on his brow. He had to do _something_. He couldn't just stand here with this fake Venger and this building-sized statue staring at him!

There was a sound of something thick dripping to the rock floor. Dreading what he may see, he slowly turned his head around and back down to Venger. The sound was definitely coming from him.

Eric crept forward and bent low. He inched his face closer to get a better look. He saw where his kick had cracked Venger's closed eyelid, which was now oozing a black, tar-like goo that ran down his face and had pooled in the skirt to overflowing before spilling in steady drips to the floor.

"What is this? What's going on around here?" Now, he did turn to the double-horned statue with its long robe or cape or whatever it was. "What did you do to him!"

Now from Venger came the sounds of scraping, like fingernails down a chalkboard. They were coming from _inside_ him!

Eric backed away, trembling. And then, like a baby bird breaking its shell to get free, bits of the Venger-shell were being broken out from within. More goop oozed from the broken face. The head broke away and fell, shattering. The chest cracked apart, and then fingers emerged to grip the two halves of the chest and pull them away from each other.

Eric continued to back away, but he couldn't take his eyes from what was happening before him. Something was crawling, dragging itself out and away from the broken bits of Venger. It was naked, had small black wings and hair, and had pale blue skin. The whole of it was covered in the black sludge.

When it was free, it crouched and shivered. Eric stopped and saw that it now assumed the same posture of kneeling to the statue, just on the other side of Venger's broken "body." He went closer. The sludge was oozing away from the creature. He had a bad feeling about this.

Against all better judgment, he moved closer to it. The thing suddenly looked up at him. Eric couldn't believe his eyes. It was, unmistakably, a Venger-like double of himself! It looked up at him now and tilted its head with a curious and questioning expression. Eric saw the fangs and the red eyes. His mind was made up in an instant. There was only one answer to this: Kill it! He could not allow it to live!

He'd never killed anything before. He wondered how he would kill this thing. But then he remembered all the shards of Venger's remains, like blades of all sizes.

He cautiously approached his double. _Just stay where you are . . . right there . . . don't move._ He tried to act as innocently curious about it as it was acting toward him. _What if it kills me first? But I'm already dead, right? Right? What if I'm not really dead? But I'm dead either way, right? D. M., I could really use your help right now!_

Eric looked down at the broken pieces at his feet, as if only now noticing them. "Hey there. Y-You and I, um . . . we really look a lot alike." His double only looked at him with that same curious expression. Eric pointed at the mess between them. "Did you come out of there? Huh? Is that where you came from?" He knelt down to pretend to inspect the fragments. His look-alike came forward and crouched beside him to watch. It gave Eric the shivers to have him so close.

"You know," said Eric, reaching for the shard of horn that had broken away from Venger's head, "I knew the guy this horn came from. Yeah. And you know what?" Eric looked at the creature. The creature looked at him. Eric gripped the base of the horn. "You aren't him!" With all the speed and strength Eric could muster, he rammed the horn into the chest of his evil twin. It howled with a familiar reverberation.

Eric toppled on top of the creature as it fell backwards, wrapping its clawed hands around his neck as it went. He felt the claws cutting into his flesh; the fingers squeezed his throat. Using his weight and all his might, he pushed the piece of red horn through its chest until he felt it hit rock. An icy-hot pain was spreading through his own chest, and he felt what was surely blood running down his neck, but he couldn't think about such things right now.

Finally, the monster's grip lessened, and its arms fell away from him. It was dead. Eric coughed as he pushed himself upright. His closed his eyes as his vision blurred, tried to catch his breath from the ordeal, but he only coughed painfully. His chest. . . . He opened his eyes and looked down . . . at the horn protruding from himself. He touched the horn and coughed again, spraying blood from his mouth.

And then there was no Venger, and there was no Venger-like twin. He was alone . . . alone and dying. He fell backwards, his head landing turned toward the double-horned statue. He tried, but he couldn't turn away from it. It was the last thing he saw as. . . .

Reality pulsed and fluctuated; it twisted and spun. He felt like he was spinning, spinning as fast as a tornado. Hues of red became hues of blue, and then he was standing on bare dirt with the open night sky above him. He was alone again here, but where was here? He looked down at himself, startled to discover he was no longer fatally injured. More than that, he once again wore the robes of a Dungeon Master!

"What tha—? Aw, this is too much!" A rumble in the distance made him look around, and a sense of urgency gripped him. "Oh, no," he whispered in blood-chilling dread before he bolted for the falling tower . . . the Tower of Darkness.

He knew where he was now, and when. He had to get there in time! Why couldn't he have landed closer? he wondered. But then he remembered the power of the crystal he wore. Never slowing, he grabbed it in both hands and tried to touch the power as he had before, when the real Dungeon Master had made him his replacement for a day.

Nothing happened. "Come on! Work! I have to stop him! I have to stop . . . _me_!" He tried rubbing it, gripping it harder, he even pressed it against his head, but to no avail. He was forced to rely on his legs alone, but he found he did not tire. He was able to run on without stopping for breath. Without caring how it looked — no one was looking, anyway — he hiked up the long red robe to allow his pumping legs more freedom of movement.

It had taken forever to reach them, but he'd made it! And there he was! _There _I _am!_ The lock was already broken. He saw himself pull the pin from the lock of the Box of Balefire and let it fall like it was no more important than a used toothpick. He was about to open it!

"Stop!" he cried out to his other self, who jumped with a yelp, as he ran down the ruined steps to stop him. "Don't open that box! Don't let it open!"

"Uh, th-thi-this isn't what it looks like, Dungeon Master. W-W-We were just—"

A horrid growl came from within the Box of Balefire. Eric the Cavalier stumbled backwards in fear and confusion.

"Put the lock back! Hurry! Lock it!" Eric nearly screamed.

It was maddening to watch the other palming around for the discarded bits of the lock. But then he himself saw the lock's pin. Quickly, he reached for it, but the other snatched it up first. However, his counterpart was shaking too much to get it in place in time. The Box's lid flew open, throwing a blindingly bright column of white light to an imperceptible height in the clear night sky.

_Damn it! No! Not again!_ He ran over and shut the Box, grabbed the pin from where the Cavalier had dropped it, and shoved it back into place. But he knew it was too late, he knew what it had been, and he knew what was about to happen.

The Cavalier cried out again and said, "Wh-What was _that_?"

He remembered what Dungeon Master had told them well enough. And it did look like he was meant to play out that part. But, he swore to himself, this time it would turn out differently. It _had_ to!

"It was . . . a messenger," Eric the Dungeon Master began, unable to bring himself to call them his pupils, as the real Dungeon Master had done. "You have released the signal to a being more powerful than any you have ever faced before." That was pretty good, he thought with the tiniest bit of pride. "And now he knows that we are here," he finished.

And then it came to him, laid out before him in his mind's eye. _He must not find the Box of Balefire! But . . . what if this isn't even real? If it isn't real, it doesn't matter. Can I take that chance? But if this is real, and if No-Name finds this box, then he'll be able to find the _other_ box. And _that_ can't happen!_ He gulped. There wasn't much time!

"We must hide the Box!" He turned to Hank. "H—" He stopped, remembering himself. "Ranger! Use your bow to blast a pit in the ground, there!" he shouted, pointing.

To his credit, Hank didn't hesitate to summon an arrow. But as he rose from his crouch to aim from his full height, a strong wind caught him and knocked him off balance. He accidentally loosed the arrow, which went wild, zig-zagging over the others' heads.

"Hey! Watch it!" Diana shouted.

"Take it easy, Hank," Sheila said right after her.

Hank quickly took aim again, with a firmer stance this time, and fired two arrows into the ground. With that done, Eric took the bow and the club from Hank and Bobby as, together, they lifted the Box of Balefire to carry it to the pit.

"This way! Hurry!" Eric yelled to everyone. He had to keep them all close.

"I thought only crooks buried their evidence!" the Cavalier shouted. Eric had forgotten he'd said that. How wrong he'd been, he now thought. Just as the real Dungeon Master had, he let the quip go unanswered.

They reached the pit, and Hank and Bobby tossed the Box to the bottom.

"Quickly, Barbarian! Cover it!" said Eric, as he returned the club to Bobby. Eric watched as Bobby filled the hole with one mighty downswing that brought the surrounding dirt and rock down to bury the Box of Balefire.

And now, it was time to change history — if any of this was actually happening. He desperately hoped so.

He knew what he would do because he knew what not to do. They would not run. Nor would he waste his Dungeon Master's powers by futilely transporting them all to the other side of the Realm and back. And he would also waste no time fighting the Evil. With only six of the thirteen Objects of Power, it was hopeless, he knew. He couldn't imagine why the real Dungeon Master had even tried it, except that he must have felt that same desperate hope Eric himself now felt, but for different reasons.

"Now, everyone, gather close to me!" He waited until all sat in a circle around him. In his best Dungeon Master voice, he said, "Listen to me. This is not a being that we can run from, nor is he one that we can fight. Our only hope is in escape."

"Are you kidding? We've been trying to escape this place since we got here! Now you're telling us we have to escape _now_?"

_Damn, I could be such a jerk! Sometimes. . . ._

"Come on, Dungeon Master, who is it . . . or-or what is it?" Bobby asked.

Here, too, Eric felt that Dungeon Master's original answer would serve. He found he remembered the words as though he'd heard them a hundred times.

"His name is not for your ears, Barbarian. He is not life as we know it." _And don't I know it!_ "He has many identities on many different worlds. But all know him as 'Evil.' He is the ruler of many universes, but his goal is to rule the entire cosmos with evil."

As if on cue, the sky darkened with black clouds, the winds blew harder.

"He has found us! We have one chance. If you will give me your weapons. . . ." They all obediently placed their weapons before him. He could feel how they trusted him, but not him. They trusted Dungeon Master. He prayed he could live up to their trust.

"This is all just some kind of a-a test, isn't it, Dungeon Master? I mean, you are going to save us, aren't you?" Diana asked. Eric hated hearing such fear in her beautiful voice. It had struck his heart with renewed fear when he'd heard it the first time. Now, it only served to strengthen his resolve. _Yes, Diana, that's exactly what I intend to do._

Now, he had to concentrate; he couldn't fail now! His timing had to be perfect. No Name had to believe that he'd killed them. And he first must warn them all not to look up and into its face.

Just as Dungeon Master had done, he summoned the powers of the weapons into himself, combined them with his own power, and enveloped them all in a protective white light.

"Listen carefully. The instant before he strikes, he will reveal his face. No matter what happens, you _must not_ look upon it!" And then he added, "You will be trapped here in this realm forever if you do!"

And so there was the Cavalier's needed reason. Now, he knew he would not look. The rest was arranged. He felt the great powers of a Dungeon Master open to him, and he knew the binding rules of the Balance enough to bend them . . . just a little.

No Name approached and stopped short of plowing through them. He could smell the burning of the Realm in the wind.

"What's that thing waiting for?" Presto cried.

The Cavalier responded, but not in the way he had before. "Stuff it, Presto!" he shouted at his friend. "And keep your head down!"

It was much better than the idiotic thing he'd said the first time, thought Eric the Dungeon Master.

The moment had come. He knew that Evil had just revealed its face. If he looked up now, he would see it. He was tempted to turn a defiant eye up at it, but no. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. It would be stupid to make the same mistake twice. Instead, he looked around at his friends. No face was turned toward the cosmic evil in the heavens above.

Eric took a deep breath. _Goodbye, guys._

He felt the torrent of negative energy descending. No more than a second, he calculated. _No sweat. Plenty of time._ Eric the Dungeon Master then made the slightest of folds in the temporal fabric of the cosmos. The changes he had influenced would remain in place. In almost the same instant, he relinquished his role to the real Dungeon Master and transported them to the Underworld. He knew they would proceed in the Underworld much as they had before.

But it wasn't enough to have saved his younger self and the others. The sacrifice must still be made. And now, the Eric of a different time was ready. He thought of Diana's courage, of the kiss they had shared, and was able to smile before the might of He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken was upon him.


	16. Chapter 15 Realm's Edge

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Realm's Edge**

Hank, Diana, Sheila, Bobby, Presto, and Donnova sat together in silence, some weeping, all waiting. The Thinker stood perfectly still, silently facing the entrance to Death's Pass. Hank fought the urge to look his way again. He'd seen enough of his sculpted butt cheeks.

Hank wished he knew what was happening to Eric in there — other than being killed by some unknown means and all for them. Knowing that Eric, on the whole, was a coward made it more difficult to bear. Eric had had his moments of bravery, sure; he'd proven himself more than once. But to choose to face death, knowing there was no escape, knowing there was no use in fighting. . . . It didn't fit that Eric would make such a choice.

And so the question remained: Why had he been so insistent upon being the one to sacrifice himself? Hank felt he had to have missed something, somewhere, sometime. He tried not to be angry with Eric, though Eric had left them all at a loss by refusing to explain himself. They were his friends. Didn't they deserve an explanation? Didn't they deserve to know why?

Uni's death . . . still so fresh in everyone's minds. Now Eric, too. . . .

"He has passed. The way is open. Go well, young ones," spoke The Thinker. He took his place on his platform of rock and became again the familiar sculpture known to more than one world.

So that was that. No honoring eulogy, no song. Just . . . gone.

For a moment, Hank said nothing, just looked at the statue and beyond at the opening of Death's Pass, and thought of Eric and his mysterious sacrifice. No, it was no good. There was no point in trying to understand, no use in trying to make any sense of it at all. Instead, he chose to remember that it was not a death without purpose.

"Let's move, guys. This is what Eric died for." Part of him felt it was rather soon to be speaking of it in this way, but he wanted to personally acknowledge Eric's sacrifice, as well as to let the others know that Eric would not be forgotten.

Sheila stood and looked from him to the ground, to her hands as she nervously wrung them. "Hank . . . what if . . . what if he's. . . ?"

Donnova moved to face them both. "I'll ride on ahead. I can signal if . . . if I find anything."

"No," said Hank, trying in this moment to keep his dislike of her out of his voice. "I'll go first."

She looked at him a moment, as though expecting him to change his mind, he imagined. "As you wish," she then said with a respectful nod.

He wanted this responsibility because he felt he deserved it. He deserved to be punished. He'd lost one of them. What if there had been another option?

In any case, it was the least he could do in this situation. If Eric was lying in there, dead, he should see it first. He wanted never to forget that if it had not been Eric, it would have been himself.

There was no hurry to mount the horses. And now Sheila and Bobby didn't have to ride together. Eric's absence allowed them each their own horse. When all were mounted, Hank made a pass in front of Donnova. "Keep far enough back," he instructed her. To which, she nodded. They would go single file. He turned his horse and rode past The Thinker, giving him a final glance, and then into Death's Pass.

* * *

By Hank's estimate, it took well over two full hours to ride through the base of the mountain. At least, it felt as though it had. But he could see the way out now — a growing natural white light at the other end. What he didn't see was any sign of Eric. When he finally walked his horse out and into the light, he turned it around to wait for the others to emerge.

He glanced up at the white sky, eyes slowly adjusting after the relative darkness of the pass, and felt a chill. And then he thought himself privileged to be feeling anything at all.

_Eric. . . ._

Donnova soon exited, followed by Sheila, Bobby, Presto, and, finally, Diana.

He heard Sheila's voice, and then Presto's soft reply of: "Yeah, I wonder what happened to him."

Donnova walked her horse beside Hank's and looked out ahead into the distance. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw her smiling. He furrowed his brow and glanced sidelong at her. She _was_ smiling, damn her. But before anger could fill his heart, she said, "Why not ask him? There he is."

"What?" Diana nearly yelled.

Hank snapped his head around to see for himself. It _was_ Eric! That distant sitting figure in gold, blue, and red, topped with the black of his hair. "I can't believe it. It really is Eric!"

"He's alive?" Sheila cried.

"What're we waitin' for?" Presto said.

That was all the encouragement they needed. In seconds, they were all galloping toward Eric. And in seconds, Eric obviously heard them. His head jerked around. He tried to rise, but staggered backwards and landed on his butt. Then he rose and watched their approach, apparently in shock. But Hank saw that something wasn't right. There was no gladness in his eyes. Only horror.

"No!" Eric shouted over the sounds of the horses. "No, no, no!"

"Eric!" Diana shouted as she nimbly leapt from her horse. "You're alive!" She hugged him tightly.

"No. . . ."

"Yeah, we thought you were a goner!" said Presto.

"Good to see ya again, Cavalier," said Hank, choosing to ignore the odd behavior and giving him a friendly slap on the back.

Eric jumped back and looked at them like they were crazy. "Wh-what's going on? What are you doing here? You can't be here!"

"We made it, Eric. All of us. This is Realm's Edge!" Sheila explained, smiling through tears of joy.

"What? No! It can't be! . . . I can't be alive!" Eric's eyes frantically searched the ground in thought. "He . . . he tricked me! Where is that stone-headed—" To Hank's amazement, Eric started crying. He went on, his voice afflicted with emotion. "It's not fair! I had it all fixed! Everything! The future, the past . . . !" He dropped to his knees and pounded the hard gray ground with both his fists. "And it was all a dream! I was dead and it was all worth it! I died for something! For something good! . . . I was OK with it!"

Everyone crowded around him, but Hank signaled them back. Eric looked like he needed space to breathe. They moved back to let Hank get closer and talk.

"Take it easy, Eric. Everything's OK. You're alive, and—"

"But I'm not supposed to be! Don't you get it!"

"You almost sound like you wish you _were_ dead," said Hank.

To this, Eric said nothing. No one said anything. Eric looked at the ground and breathed heavily. Everyone else looked at Eric, who seemed to be calming down and coming to terms with reality. Whatever had happened to him in there, it must have been terrible, Hank realized.

Finally, Presto came forward with Eric's shield. He held it out to his best friend. "_I'm_ glad you're alive," he said with a smile. "We _all_ are, Eric."

Eric stared at it with what Hank clearly recognized as dread. But the Cavalier did finally take the shield, and then slowly affixed it to his shield arm, which promptly went limp at his side as though it now carried a terrible burden. "Let's . . . let's just go." He went and mounted the closest horse and immediately set off away from them. When the others didn't follow, he turned back to them. "I said, 'Let's go'!"

Hank looked around at the others and shrugged sympathetically. "Come on. We still have some ground to cover."

* * *

Hank's mind was wandering again, to nothing in particular. It was the monotony of the place. The sky was one even tone of off-white. Everything was drab and gray and lifeless and silent. Nothing moved. No winds blew. He felt as though he were riding through a bored artist's meaningless charcoal sketch — undetailed, unpeopled, and uncolored. And it was unnaturally cold — not a cold you physically felt, but the kind of cold you could feel somewhere deep in your mind. The kind that brings an inner chill to numb the core of your being.

He uselessly looked around again, hoping they were going in the right direction. It wasn't easy to keep his bearings with every direction looking the same. And there was a foggy mist in the air that limited visibility. He had long lost sight of the mountains behind them, but surely they wouldn't miss a tower standing in the middle of this, the middle of _nothing_.

"Keep your eyes open," Hank reminded everyone over his shoulder. "We should be able to see the tower soon."

He caught a glimpse of Diana and Eric, talking quietly at the rear. He hoped Eric wouldn't blow it with her, if they were going to have a relationship at all. But he couldn't think of them after he noticed Sheila and Donnova in deep conversation, too. What were those two always talking about? Probably more stories of their adventures. He wondered if Sheila had talked Presto and Bobby into sharing a horse just so that she could talk privately with Donnova as they rode.

He straightened in his saddle and thought only of Sheila. Why couldn't he do as Eric had done? How many times had he wanted to spontaneously grab Sheila and lock lips with her? He was happy for Eric and Diana. True, it had been quite a shock at first, but when he saw that Diana wasn't going to knock him to the other side of the realm, he was happy for them. He saw no problem with their getting together. Why couldn't he get passed seeing a relationship for himself as anything other than problem-causing?

_I do it for them. I can't think about me. Not until we get home. But . . . what if we never get home? Am I supposed to be alone forever? What if Sheila finds someone else before I tell her how I really feel? Sir Lawrence was a close call._

He had been so afraid Sir Lawrence and Sheila were actually about to kiss. And why shouldn't they have? he thought. He was there to help her take care of Bobby when he was near death, and he selflessly shared all he had, did all he could. He also destroyed those two stalkers, saving all their lives. And then Sheila freed him from his curse with her teardrop. It was more like a storybook romance than all his time with her had ever been.

He suddenly felt it foolish to be thinking about such things at the end of their most crucial mission, but there was nothing else for them to do at the moment but look for the Empyreal Tower. And with seven pairs of eyes on the job, even with not all of them exactly alert, they had to find it. And so he fell right back into his thoughts.

_The way he touched her. . . ._ As he remembered Sir Lawrence's delicately taking Sheila's chin in his hand, the handsome king became Venger, and the caring look in Sheila's eyes turned to horror as she cried out for Hank. He hated that memory. He had done nothing to help her. He was frozen in place. Little Bobby, however, had immediately stepped up, toe-to-toe with their greatest enemy.

He blacked that scene from his mind. Blocked it. But he could not forget Sir Lawrence.

Sir Lawrence and Sheila could have had their "happily ever after." Sometimes he felt guilty about her having turned the king down. He knew she would have made a wonderful queen. He felt that she might have done it because she knew deep down how he, Hank, felt for her.

But what if Sir Lawrence and Sheila had been meant to be together? What if Presto and Varla had been meant for each other? What if Diana and Eric were doomed because Diana was truly meant for Kosar, even in another life? What if Bobby and Terri were meant to be?

Hank made up his mind. If they got through this, whether they made it home or not, he swore to himself that revealing his true feelings to Sheila would be the first thing he'd do. He wanted her to know. He wanted to tell her so much. He wanted to hold her and kiss her and caress her. He wanted to lie with her. He'd dreamed of all these things. He simply hadn't been able to bring himself to tell her. But soon he would take her hands in his, look into her beautiful green eyes, and—

"Look, guys," Diana shouted. "Up ahead!"

They stopped their horses as they glimpsed a black edifice in the distance.

"Is that the Empyreal Tower?" Sheila asked, filled with awe.

"It's gotta be," said Hank.

"Any of you guys see the top of that thing?" Presto asked.

"Knowing this crazy world, it probably doesn't have one," Eric surmised.

"Enough talk!" Donnova said as she broke away into a gallop ahead of the others.

Hank wasn't about to let her take the lead this close to the end. "Let's go!" He set off after her, pushing his horse to catch her.

"Wait for us!" Diana called after them.

Like the mountains had been, the tower was farther away than it looked. But it gave Hank enough time to finally pass Donnova for the lead. As he approached, it seemed more like the tower itself grew larger rather than that they were getting closer.

Soon, they were all on their feet, cautiously approaching the tower. The only sounds were theirs; to be still meant perfect silence.

"No guards," Presto whispered.

"You don't need guards when the only way in is through a nightmare," Eric replied.

Hank easily heard their whispers in the still, eerie silence of Realm's Edge.

"You really think we'll make it home this time?" Diana asked.

"There's only one way to find out," said Hank. "C'mon."

Hank led the way, but saw no apparent way inside. "We'll have to go around. There must be a door somewhere on the other side."

He looked carefully for some way in as they walked the perimeter, but saw nothing. He willed some way inside to make itself known. Eventually, they were back where they started.

"Just great! We've been all the way around this thing and there's no door or window or anything!" said Eric, sounding much like his old self.

Donnova was studying the black surface. "It doesn't feel like stone."

Hank went to feel the outer wall for himself, as did everyone else. "No . . . it doesn't."

"What is it?" asked Sheila.

"I dunno."

"I don't care what it is." Eric turned to Bobby. "Hey, you wanna get over here and make us a way in already?"

Bobby hefted his club with determination in his eyes. "Yeah . . . I sure do." Hank heard a hardness in the young voice that he'd never thought to hear from any child. "Stand back," he warned and lifted his club, ready as ever to smash something to bits.

"Careful, Bobby," Sheila warned.

As they grouped behind the Barbarian and moved back, Hank saw the boy's tight grip and said, "Bobby, we only need a hole big enough to walk through. Okay, buddy?" Hank read the series of expressions that crossed Bobby's face. He was sure Bobby had been about to let loose with all the destructive power he could muster. Now the boy seemed more aware of himself and readjusted his grip on his club.

"Right," said Bobby so quietly that in any other setting Hank wouldn't have heard him. He raised the club over his head, brought it down with a force that was more than a whack, but less than a bash.

But the expected did not happen. The club didn't break the wall, and it didn't bounce off, either. It stopped against the tower, soundlessly, abruptly, as though sticking to tar. Swirls and undulations radiated out from where the club made contact. And there was a sound like a small hiss that made Hank's skin crawl and all the hairs on the back of his neck and down his spine stand on end.

"Bobby, get away from there!" Hank warned, readying the bow.

Bobby jumped back, and then Sheila pulled him even farther away. "I'm all right, sis. Leggo."

"Now did you really expect that to work?" Eric snidely asked, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

Ignoring the fact that Eric had been the one to suggest forced entry in the first place, he set his mind to what they might try next. "Must have some kind of magical protection."

"Ya think?" Eric again.

_Don't say anything. Just ignore him_, he told himself and turned his attention back to the mystery of the tower. He wondered what it was made of as he scanned it up and down.

Then he saw it. He saw it, but he couldn't bring himself to speak of it. He was sick of delivering bad news. He was sick of bad news, period. So he stared at it, dreading the implications, hating the being it summoned to invade his mind once more. And then he knew Donnova was looking at him, and then from him to the curved depression in the tower that went from a flat base to end in a sharp point.

She looked back at him, saying nothing, but he sensed she understood. He sighed and looked away. Everyone was now looking up. He didn't have to say anything.

Sheila gasped.

"Oh, great. Just _fucking_ great," said Eric.

"Eric!" Diana snapped.

"Sorry," he spat back. "Sorry," he repeated more gently this time.

Presto stepped closer, squinting up at the shape. "If that's what it looks like, we'll _never_ get inside!"

"We'll get inside," Donnova said. Hank couldn't fathom where she found the confidence he heard in her voice. It was likely misplaced.

Eric, obviously, was not impressed. "What are ya gonna do? Call Venger on the phone and ask him to come over here and unlock this tower for us? Are we supposed to knock on his door and ask to borrow his horn? Let's face it, we came all this way for _nothing_!"

"No! We need that key, and so we will have it! I'll go and take it from Venger myself!" Donnova said.

He shared the feeling, but knew she was letting her anger speak for her. "You can't do it alone, Donnova. None of us could. It's too dangerous," Hank said miserably. "I doubt we could pull that off even if his entire Orc army _and Shadow Demon_ were on _our_ side."

"Why would the Dungeon Master send us here if we had no way inside? We've come too far, and we all want to go home. I'd say it's worth the danger. _Any_ danger!"

Hank looked away, undecided. He knew she was looking at him, waiting for a rebuttal from him, but what could he say? She had a point. They couldn't do nothing. Why couldn't Dungeon Master have told them about this? he thought. But then he answered his own question: They never would have made it here if they'd gotten it first. Venger would have known where they were going, what they were doing. Unless they killed him to take it. . . . But he knew that wasn't the answer, either.

Donnova now turned to Presto. Her voice was low and austere. "Presto, I need a way to get to Venger's castle and back. I've heard you transported yourself to him once."

"Wait!" Sheila said before Presto could respond. "I'm going with you! I am the _Thief_, after all. So if there's anything to be stolen, well, that's _my_ job."

"Just hold on a minute," Hank said, fearing if he didn't take control now, he may lose the leadership to Donnova, whom he now turned to face. "Do you even have a plan?"

She hesitated. "Not as such, no," she admitted, not meeting his eyes.

_And this is why _I'm_ the leader_, he thought, making sure to keep his modicum of smugness in check. "No one's going anywhere unless we have a plan." Hank was now looking hard at their new member. "And I've got an idea."

* * *

_Personal note: I wasn't totally happy with this chapter. Can't really say why, other than I feel it's lacking . . . something. Or feelings didn't come through the way I'd intended. But, it is what it is._


	17. Chapter 16 The Empyreal Tower

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Empyreal Tower**

They all knew the plan and were as ready as they were going to be. There was no point wasting any more time.

"Eric, Diana, you know what to do," Hank said.

"Yeah, yeah," said Eric.

"We'll be ready," Diana answered, looking worriedly over at Eric.

"Bobby, Presto, we don't know what's in there. Just be ready for anything once we're in. I'm expecting Venger to be right behind us," Hank reminded him.

"I'll be ready. Don't worry about me," said Bobby.

But Hank did, and felt he always would.

"Sheila? Donnova?"

Sheila nodded, uneasily, and turned to Donnova.

Donnova arms were hugged around herself. A single nail scraped at her upper arm. "I'm ready, but that's not to say that I believe this will work. And before you ask, no, I can't think of a better plan. But if one of us makes the slightest mistake, we're dead. This plan of yours is held together with hope and assumptions. Only luck could see this through," she finished, sounding disgusted.

"Well, maybe I'm feelin' lucky," said Hank. "There's a saying on my world. 'It's so crazy, it just might work.'"

He held the poisonous look she shot him with one of his own. He knew she was wanting to say something more. His eyes dared her. Part of him enjoyed their little power struggle; part of him loathed her for forcing him to make such a show of himself.

He finally turned to Presto. "Presto?"

"Right. Here . . . here goes," said the nervous magician.

Sheila went ahead and shrouded herself in case Presto's spell worked immediately.

Presto's hat was already in his hands. He waved a hand around it's rim and swallowed hard. "A-Abracadabra and zippity-zin, help my friends get to Venger's and back again." Light emanated from the hat, and then three rectangular slips of paper jumped out and floated to the ground. Presto picked them up and studied them before handing them to Hank.

"What are those?" Donnova asked.

Presto cringed and smiled sheepishly. "Tickets?"

Eric rolled his eyes.

Hank inspected one. "ROUND TRIP," it read. There were three perforated segments. One end read, "DEPARTURE"; the other, "RETURN."

"How do we use them?" Donnova asked, perplexed.

"Well, I guess you could try tearing one end," Presto suggested with a shrug.

Hank explained to her what to do with the ticket. "Easy enough," she replied.

"And hide it where you can get to it fast. We won't want to hang around." Hank warned as he passed one to each, Sheila's vanishing in mid-air as she took it.

He regretted the danger he was placing Sheila in, but her invisibility was key in this mission. He couldn't see any other way of this succeeding. And they _had_ to succeed.

"Now, ready?" Hank asked.

"Ready," replied Sheila and Donnova together.

"On three." Hank counted, and then the three tore their tickets in unison and vanished.

* * *

Venger smiled. He had been expecting something like this.

He went from the window to his throne and sat with his back straight and his head held high in smug superiority. He wanted to laugh aloud. Dungeon Master's ploy, whatever it might have been, had obviously backfired. And now his Swordswoman had brought the Ranger, the leader of his star pupils, straight to him. He did not at all mind his watcher now. Let him see the old man's folly. Let him see how this victory would play out, before his eyes were taken from him when Venger finally ruled the Realm.

"Bring them before me," he ordered Shadow Demon. "And remember, they are my guests."

"Yes, Sire," answered Shadow Demon with a bow before he vanished to see to it.

As he waited, he thought of the knights, who had been pawns of the old man's long ago and had accepted the challenge of his Maze of Darkness and therein destroyed one another. He thought of other foolish pupils — the reptilian warriors — who had agreed to venture to the Dragon's Graveyard to collect the other Objects of Power for him in exchange for a portal home and were never seen again. That is, until he had raised their skeletal remains to fight Dungeon Master's new pupils.

The two arrivals this night surely heralded the beginning of their end as well.

He would hear them and strike a bargain with them, as he had with so many others who came before them who had tired of Dungeon Master's false offers of help in returning to their homeworlds, and he would lead them to their demise. He would bury them. He would offer to send them home if they gave him their weapons, and instead send them to the Mines of Minosia far underground, never to be heard from again. Dungeon Master would not save them. Once his pupils turned on him, he turned away from them. They would truly be on their own, which meant they'd be dead.

The Ranger and the Swordswoman entered — she to his right — escorted by Shadow Demon and two orcs.

"Leave us," said Venger, and waited until his servants departed.

He leaned back in his throne. "I must confess, I never thought to see the two of you in each other's company. And now I find you both in mine. What have you to say to me?"

It was the Ranger who spoke. "We believe you have the power to send us all home, Venger. My friends and me to my world, and her to hers."

Venger glanced over at the Swordswoman. By her proud expression, he could tell that she was satisfied with her manipulation of the Ranger and his friends, for surely he would not be here if the majority had voted against him.

"I remember your portal in the Maze of Darkness. And you opened a way to my world with the Crystal of Chronos. We'll give you our weapons in exchange for passage home," he continued. "You get what you want; we get what we want. No tricks."

So she _had_ done it. She had turned them against Dungeon Master. _You have served me well, Swordswoman. I could almost consider sparing you._ "You would, of course, offer a gesture of good faith?"

The Ranger took a step forward. "I was about to offer."

Venger rose and took a step toward him.

The Ranger held his bow out level in one hand, while beside him, the Swordswoman removed her sword from its scabbard and made ready to present it. "The Energy Bow," he said in offering.

Venger could hardly believe it could be this easy. He reached out his hands to accept the powerful weapon.

* * *

_That's it, Venger. Both hands. _

_Don't mess this up. _

_This is NOT going to work. I was crazy to think it would. We're all dead!_

_Wait for it. . . ._

As soon as Venger's two hands gripped the bow, Donnova sliced Venger's horn from his helmet in one clean upstroke. It flew outward and vanished in mid-air. Hank and Donnova vanished as well.

* * *

As soon as Realm's Edge came into focus, he looked around frantically. There was Donnova. Where was Sheila?

"Sheila!" he called out.

"Here!" She appeared not too far ahead of him.

"Do you have it?"

"I got it!" Shiela nearly screamed.

Shiela reached into her fishing net, pulled out the horn, and tossed it to Hank, who then ran and threw it to Diana, who was standing on Eric's shoulders in order to reach the matching impression in the Tower's wall.

Presto handed Hank his real bow. "It actually worked? He was superglued to that fake bow?"

"Yeah! It was perfect! He didn't suspect a thing!" said Hank.

Presto and Hank laughed. Bobby cheered. But then, Diana screamed. Hank looked up and saw black hands around Diana's wrists. The horn was in place, he noticed. Diana rose in the air, and Eric reached up, jumping, trying to latch onto Diana, but she was pulled away.

"Diana!" Eric yelled.

Hank fired an arrow, hoping to rope Diana, but several black figures snatched her away at the last second. And then it looked like the entire Tower was coming down on all of them.

"Look out!" Hank yelled.

All scattered and covered their heads, yet the expected clatter of stone hitting ground never came. The whole of the Tower was collapsing, but it was very wrong. The pieces flew apart, grew wings and arms. A thousand white eyes looked down on them.

Hank looked around. Too much was happening at once. He looked, but saw no prisoner where the tower had been. But he did see something odd. It looked like a crystal ball on a pedestal. He could think of only one thing: "Bobby! The crystal! Break it!" Hank shouted.

The Barbarian immediately ran for it, bringing his club high over his head.

The dark cloud of what Hank could only call shadow demons quickly descended on Bobby and everyone else. A tornado-like, swarming terror of black wings, angry eyes, slashing claws, and serpentine tails. Hank was forced to stop and try to swat them away, but there were too many.

"Hank! I can't see!" he heard Bobby scream.

There was no chance to run, nowhere to take cover. All their frantic screaming and swatting was useless against the demon horde. With movement too quick for mortal eye, they ripped cloth and flesh alike. Blood-red streaks marked Hank's arms as he was being ripped apart little by little.

* * *

Donnova and Eric swatted at the shadow demons with shield and sword, trying to get them away from the others. One demon in particular stopped and hovered in front of Eric, looking him in the eye. Eric stiffened in dumb fear, but then it just moved on.

"Eric! Your shield! Cover them!" Donnova yelled and pointed to the others who'd managed to find each other.

Thankfully, Eric had the presence of mind to heed her. He put the power of his shield to use and began making his way to his friends. He was unharmed and soon separated his friends from further assault.

Seeing the others were out of danger for the moment, Donnova realized she hadn't been attacked. Neither had Eric. The others, however, had not fared so well. In all the confusion, she hadn't thought of it. Now, one at a time, a shadow would emerge from the chaotic whirlwind to study her. She froze as curious hands touched her neck, ran through her hair, and traced down her back and legs. They would swirl around to face her, and she would meet the eyes of each.

They spoke in turn.

"No, not the enemy," said one.

"Nor the master," said another.

"But dark kindred, yes."

"We are called here. This is our work."

"Do not interfere, and we will pass over you."

These were as whispers on the wind. She could not be sure that she heard voice or thought, but she understood. She looked again to her friends huddled together beneath Eric's shield. They were watching, confused and concerned. Sheila was yelling and waving her toward them.

Donnova had taken a slow step in their direction when she sensed something of a shift in the shadows, and then heard more empty voices:

"The Master."

"Venger!"

"We do as you command."

"We serve, Master."

"We are called to defend."

"Yes, it is secure."

_They're guarding that crystal._ Donnova turned to see Venger, his long black hair flowing, with Shadow Demon, as ever, at his shoulder.

Shadow Demon's quiescence lent him an air of superiority over his frenzied counterparts. Perhaps he was one especially set apart from the others somehow. Perhaps there was something different about him that did distinguish him from the others.

She brought a hand to the hilt of her sword, causing several anxious Shadow Demons to turn watchful and threatening eyes to her. She thought she heard a distant whisper of "You dare!" She eased her hand away from her weapon.

"Call them off, Venger!" she demanded. She walked slowly toward him, shadows madly criss-crossing her path as she advanced. She spread her arms in a gesture of deference to his evident victory. "You've won. It's over. Dispatch these demons now, and deal with us yourself."

He contentedly crossed his arms. "But I'm rather enjoying this. Your friends cannot cower forever under the Cavalier's shield . . . and shadow demons can be quite relentless. You will see I can be patient when patience suits me," he said with a sneer. "Soon the Young Ones will be reduced to no more than a scattering of bones — a sight I shall relish for some time. Their Objects of Power will finally be mine!

"And as for you. . . . With a word I can set these demons upon you. They spared you at their discretion, but they need not be persuaded to include you in their onslaught. _I_ command them!

"Surrender the sword to me, and I may yet let you live," he offered.

He had just given her the chance she needed. She knew she must take advantage of it, to buy needed time. She took care to appear thoughtful, possibly near submission. "Gracious as always, Venger," she replied sarcastically. "Allow me a moment to consider it."

She turned her back to him and took a few steps into the black swirling mass. She casually raised her hand and slid it over that area of her breast that held the Sonant Stone. She knew now what it was for, just as the Dungeon Master had said she would. She let her hand continue its ascent until she gripped the sword's hilt. She drew it cautiously, the blade ringing long against the sputcheon. She brought the weapon down in front of her, slicing the concealing flesh on its way.

Donnova silently grimaced with pain as she slid her fingers around the slickened stone and worked it through the bloody orifice. Once in her hand, she manipulated it so that the convex side fit into her palm.

Her drying blood helped hold the stone in place in her hand as she brought it up to face the crystal. She took a deep breath and released her preternatural voice. Amplified by the powerful Sonant Stone, Donnova's voice was affecting the crystal. It began to vibrate, threatening to explode.

That explosion did not come, however. She was suddenly in a different place. A very familiar place. It took her a moment, but she recognized the Citadel of Zona where she trained to fight. More precisely, she was in the citadel's Shrine of Valmun, Dark Patron of Nature's Poisons and Child Death. But it looked strange. The flames of the candles were dim and pale. And it was so quiet. The place was empty. No coenobites guarded the doors, the fonts, or the displayed artifacts.

Donnova walked deeper into the shrine. Bloodstone chalices and phials of poisons lined the walls, alternated with indigo candles. The ceiling was ringed with the skulls of children of various ages, all looking down at her. Even the jade floor and the poisonous flora in their pots along the walls were just as she remembered them.

"I must be dreaming," she said to herself. Her eyes widened as another possibility occurred to her. "Or dead." She looked herself over. No wounds. No sword. . . .

Her attention fell to the small table where an ornate crystal phial rested on an intricately designed crystal stand. It glowed and shimmered from a sparkling light within. She went closer, and slowly, she reached to take it.

"Take care, my child. That one is potent enough to kill a Dark Lord," said a male voice far deeper than even Venger's.

Donnova turned to see a handsome man with long, straight black hair and bright, intense green eyes approaching her. It was as though he floated to her. He wore a robe of the deepest purple, lined with forest green that looked like living leaves and vines woven together.

She could hardly move, hardly breathe. She had heard this voice once, only once, before, and even then believed she had only dreamed it. She had seen him depicted in various art forms, along with many other Dark Patrons, in a museum once. This was undoubtedly Valmun.

"Would you spill its contents? Would you destroy one of us?"

"No! I didn't know!" Then it came to her. "The crystal. . . . You don't want me to destroy the crystal." She watched him, turning as he floated around her. "I thought only of returning home, of serving you."

"You serve best here."

Their surroundings changed. They were in a castle. Donnova looked around, taking in the new setting. She turned around and was face-to-face with Venger! She gasped and jumped back, but he seemed not to see her. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Here. . . . You mean Venger's realm?"

He floated toward Venger, looking at him, admiringly. Then, in an instant, he was behind her, putting her between them. "Tip the scales of Balance," he whispered in her ear.

And then she was back in the Realm, just as before, as though she'd never left.

"No!" Venger roared behind her. "You must not!"

He did not see that she closed her fingers to cover the stone.

A lightning-flash of blinding light, and then nothing. . . .

Donnova recovered and rose to find herself in the middle of yet another nowhere, Hank and the others with her. She still clutched the Sonant Stone in her bloody hand, holding it tightly against her blood-soaked shirt. The returning pain in her breast brought her back to herself. She looked down and opened her numb fingers. The stone fell unceremoniously to the ground, another rock amongst thousands.

"What happened?" Hank demanded. "What happened!"

He was talking to her, but she wasn't in the mood to answer. She replaced her sword and turned her back on him. A second later, he grabbed her and spun her around to face him. She knocked his arms away from her.

"We failed! It failed! _I_ failed, if you like! It doesn't matter anymore. It's over. I'm leaving." With that, she simply started off away from the group.

"Hank!" Presto called. "It's . . . Diana."

Donnova turned to see Presto with his hat in his hands. Behind him, Eric knelt, crying over Diana's broken body. Donnova turned and started off again. She felt nothing.

Sheila ran after her. "Donnova, where are you going? You can't leave now! We should all stay together. Dungeon Master will help us."

"I wouldn't count on that if I were you," Donnova called back over her shoulder.

"But wait! Where are you going?"

"The same place the rest of you are going: nowhere."

"Come back!"

"Let her go," said Hank.

"Hank!" Sheila protested.

There was a pause, but then Donnova heard Sheila running to catch up to her.

"Wait. Tell me one thing before you go," Sheila said, nearly whispering.

Donnova knew what this was about, and she smiled to herself. _Of all the things to want to know after everything that just happened._ Then she stopped and half turned her head in Sheila's direction. "The answer is yes. He was Venger to me, too." And then she turned a little to make eye contact with Sheila and winked at her.

Sheila smiled back. "Please don't go."

"I can't stay."

"Then I'll come with you."

"Sheila!" Hank called urgently.

Donnova cut her eyes at Hank. Sheila bowed her head.

"You belong with your friends, with your brother. They need you now."

She sighed and twisted around to look at her friends. "I know. . . ."

Hating dramatic goodbyes, Donnova started putting more distance between them. Sheila didn't try again to stop her.

END PART ONE


	18. Chapter 17 Dragon Kin

**PART TWO**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**Dragon Kin**

Donnova walked in the full, blazing light of the four suns. The only shade resided with the mountains that felt no closer now than when she had first started towards them. Here was open ground, mercifully flat, for her sword felt so heavy on her back that it was as though it tried to pull her down. She had eaten little in the past few days, and carried no water with her. Her body begged for rest, but she refused herself the luxury. Instead, she forced herself onwards, feeling the need to punish herself. She was frustrated and confused. She couldn't fathom why she had done it. She had purposely bungled a chance to go home — not only her chance, but the chance for the children, as well. If there had been reason for it, if she had had some kind of plan in mind, she couldn't grasp it now.

Nothing made sense anymore. Fate had always made its manifest presence known in times past, but it was lost on her now. Always the outcomes had proved to be ones that the Dungeon Master knew and desired from the beginning, and that she could only realize at the conclusion. She had rarely failed to realize them, nor did she fail, in hindsight, to see the many manipulations along the way, but by then it was too late. And with all this, her anger for the smiling little man had grown. Her failures had always been his victories, and he had always come around to gloat in his own humble yet self-indulgent way afterwards.

But he had not made an appearance this time, and she had to wonder at it. Had she finally succeeded in thwarting him for once? But could she have won this one small victory at the cost of living out her life imprisoned in the Realm?

Where was there to go now? What was there to do? Was there any more chance of ever returning home after defying the Dungeon Master? Was there any more point in going on?

She had never felt more alone than she did now. She felt her trust in herself faltering, and decided she could almost welcome the Dungeon Master's patronizing smile if only he could help her see any way forward in this land that had never welcomed her.

She thought back to Leru's words: _You lose your way, you get out and find another._ But was there another? She'd followed so many paths. Was it possible that she herself blocked the only true path to freedom? How could she have let herself commit such a folly?

Grass was finally giving way to rocks, and there was a boulder just ahead that she decided would be the place where she would stop. She unbuckled her scabbard and let it fall behind her as she closed the distance to her landmark, wincing as the loosed strap tugged at that part of her shirt that she had carelessly allowed to become attached to the wound on her breast where she had hidden the Sonant Stone. At the orc-sized boulder, she stopped, and cursed the suns, for their present position in the sky permitted very little shadow. Laying a hand on it, she meant to slowly lower herself to the ground, but her knees buckled, and she fell instead.

Turning her face to the sky, she laughed, coughed, and laughed again. Then, she became quiet and imagined herself as part of the ground, staring up at the same sky for centuries on end into eternity.

_I could be a rock,_ she thought. _Rocks don't care. Rocks don't think or feel or. . . ._

She had nearly drifted into unconsciousness when she sensed that a large shadow had passed over her. She opened her eyes for a moment, but saw nothing. Believing this to be the beginnings of delirium, she let her eyes close once more.

A moment later, she heard a distant bellow. The sound caused an image to slowly take shape in her mind, like a dream. She saw the gray rock she lay beside. It became covered in gray scales. She heard the bellow again. The rock grew claws and a tail. Once more she heard it, and a long neck and a head emerged. The head grew curling horns.

Donnova smiled, her eyes still closed. _Yes, I remember you . . . in the mountains. . . ._

Then, her eyes opened, and some clarity of thought returned. She craned her neck to turn a questioning look to the skyline. She twisted over and forced herself up on her arms. Her eyes traced the mountaintops until an incredulous smile formed on her lips. With renewed energy, she held to the boulder and pulled herself up. She searched the sky and strained her ears, but there was nothing to be seen or heard. Even so, she resolved to trust her senses.

She summoned all her remaining strength and, focusing it, let out a howl that became a sort of bellow that ended in a particularly sharp squall. She did this twice more before her dry voice failed her out of sheer exhaustion. She hoped it was enough. She hoped she'd guessed right. If she was wrong, she was dead.

She waited, and it was not long before her efforts paid off. A shadow swept over her. A dragon was making a masterful, rolling turn past her. She cocked an eyebrow. "Impressive," she said with true admiration.

A moment later, the dragon descended in front of her, laughing good-naturedly.

"Ah, cruel fate! I eagerly pursue the sweet sounds of the promises of the mating season and whom do I find? I do hope my fine flying wasn't completely lost on you. I was expecting, ah, someone else." He cocked his head thoughtfully and continued in affectation, "Donnova, my dear, I'm sure you are considered beautiful and fertile among your own kind, but I'm afraid we are entirely incompatible."

Donnova smiled. "Vek. I was hoping it would be you."

His eyes brightened and he spread his wings majestically, posing. "Then I am glad I got here first. So, you would choose me over my rookery brothers? Flattery will get you _everywhere_. Do go on," Vek teased.

He closed in and snaked his long tail around her waist. "You realize, of course, you won't properly be able to engage in the mating dance without a tail, but if you would rather skip the foreplay. . . ." He leered at her.

She laughed heartily and worked to remove the scaly appendage.

It had been something near five years since she had seen Vek, or any mountain dragon for that matter. Not since she had aided them and they had made her an honorary member of their clan in gratitude and friendship. Indeed she did feel a degree of kinship with them, more so than with anyone else she had ever met in the Realm. Seeing Vek again felt a little like coming home.

"You're much . . . _bigger_ than last I saw you." The effort in her voice lent a humorous aspect to her struggle, for she could not unwrap his tail. "A bit stronger as well."

Small clouds of smoke erupted from his nostrils, then he burst out laughing.

Donnova was laughing as well. "Your victory! I submit! I apologize for deceiving your delicate senses, my friend, but I have need of you."

"What? None of your own males warming up to you?"

She sighed. "You could say that." She stopped and shook her head. "You have a single road mind, don't you?"

"Mmmm, only during mating season," Vek replied with a wicked grin.

He released her finally, making sure to give her a spin as he did so.

Donnova was unable to catch her balance and landed on the ground, shooting him a vindictive look.

Idly, the dragon stood up on hind legs and moved against her boulder to scratch his back. "Need me, do you? Knew you'd get yourself into trouble out there. Seems to be your lot. Should have stayed with us. — Oooh, right there. Ahh. — So, what does bring you back to these parts?"

"Not what. Who."

"Oh?"

"Venger," she said insipidly.

Vek's eyes widened and he landed thunderously back on all fours. He tossed his head back and snorted a plume of fire. "What has that villain done to you?" His voice was backed with a fearsome growl.

"Nothing yet, but I'm sure he would have if he'd had the presence of mind. At the time, he more urgently needed to be rid of me than anything else. His sorcery has sent me halfway across the Realm."

Vek angrily stomped the ground. "Tiamat should have destroyed him when she had her chance in the cliffs! Venger shouldn't _be_ a consideration anymore!"

"About that. . . ." Donnova went and sat against the boulder and let her head fall back. "You can tell your father that Venger lives through no fault of ours. Our plan worked. Tiamat and Venger were lured into battle, but their confrontation was . . . _interrupted_ by the Dungeon Master himself. Seems he chose that particular time and place to bring six more unfortunates into the Realm."

Vek was speechless for a moment. "_Six more_? But . . . if the battle had been allowed to continue, Tiamat may have destroyed him! There would have been no reason for another _six_!"

"Maybe he foresaw Tiamat's defeat and was protecting her. But then, surely, he could have done that himself," she reasoned. Then, more quietly, she added, "And maybe killing Venger isn't the reason any of us are here."

Exasperated, Donnova roughly dragged her fingers through her hair and hung her head. "Why can't anything in this world make sense! _Children_, Vek! The Dungeon Master stole _children_ from another world — a world of no magic! The oldest of them is years younger than I! What does he expect them to do? What does he expect any of us to do? I did everything he asked until I could do no more! Now he comes to me again and. . . ."

She stopped and took a deep breath. "Forgive me, my friend."

"It's all right," Vek said tenderly as he brushed the back of a claw down her cheek. "I can't imagine what you've been through."

"The others. . . . They refuse to see the Dungeon Master as anything but their savior. They are truly lost." She wrapped her hands around his. "I'm so tired of being lost, Vek. I'm going to find the Dungeon Master again one day. He and I have unfinished business."

Vek put his head close to hers and said in earnest, "I know you must do what you feel you must, but, my dear, if I may say so, you're looking much too wayworn at present to make such assertions."

Donnova let her head fall to one side and looked up into his large, glistening gray eyes. "I've been walking for days, Vek. I'm exhausted."

He shook his head at her piteously, then lowered his body to the ground. "Climb on. I'll take you home where you can get proper food and rest. You can tell me all about it."


	19. Chapter 18 Draakhaven

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**Draakhaven**

The next afternoon, Donnova awoke with a headache and a dry mouth in a room at an inn. The day before, after a long bath and longer sleep, she had visited with old acquaintances, both dragon and human, before spending the rest of the night drinking and reminiscing with Vek. They shared stories of their recent escapades. Donnova told of her latest wayward journey. She would have found none of those hardships if she had stayed here, he had reminded her.

She jerked her head up when she realized she didn't immediately know what she had done with the sword. Stabbing pain shot through her neck to her temples.

"Ohh," she groaned and scolded herself inwardly for the night's bout.

But there was the sword, on the floor next to her cot. She dragged it closer and used it to help steady herself as she rose to stand. Feeling her legs under her again, she straightened her clothes and fought to see straight.

She thought of lying back down and sleeping the rest of the day away, but decided against it. She wasn't about to let a hint of downfall take hold of her — not again, not now. Last night's binge was for old times' sake. Aimless as she now felt, she still felt a sense of looming purpose.

There was also the thought of simply settling here and forgetting everything else. That would make Vek happy, at least.

She walked out into the thinly cloud-veiled light of the suns. Although her eyes were slow to adjust, she was sure she saw a hooded man in a dark monk's robe on the other side of the wide thoroughfare. He caught her eye simply because he looked out of place . . . also she thought him too still amid the bustle around him. She saw no one else dressed as he was. She blinked her eyes to try to clear them, but then he was gone. She stepped further from her door and looked around, squinting as she tried to find him among the crowds. She was so distracted that she didn't see the thick point of tail she stumbled over.

Forgetting the mysterious man, she cursed as she strode uneasily around the corner to find the head of this heedless beast. When she found it, her anger became amusement. She bent and tapped between the horns with a knuckle.

Vek pried one gooey eye open.

"Don't tell me this is as far as you made it," Donnova teased.

"Suppose I am rather in the way," he mumbled. He tried to prop himself up. "Tripped on a wing, you see. Couldn't decide which library I meant to fly over."

"Well, there is only the one," she reminded him.

He tried to smile. "My point exactly."

"Come on, we'll walk it off together. Need a hand?"

"Many," he said with a grunt, "but I'll manage."

Wearily, he peeled himself off the ground and shook his head. "Ah! Wrong move." He groaned and sat up on his hind legs and held his head for a moment.

"I feel your pain, my friend," she said, feeling truly sympathetic.

Vek finally opened his eyes and looked at her. "I'm not walking through the square with you looking like that. Have you had a proper look at yourself, my dear? Here, be still."

Before Donnova could protest, he bent down and licked through her hair with the flat of his tongue. He sat back again and cocked his head, having another look. "Much better," he said, satisfied.

"I suppose I should thank you for that?" she said through clenched teeth. She ran a hand through the wet, gooey dragon spit, studied it, and then looked to Vek with disgust.

He nodded smartly. "You're welcome." He stepped past her, and then stopped and turned his head. "Coming?"

Donnova sighed and joined him.

The city was alive with activity. There was the usual bustle of trade in the main square. It was noted as being the largest town square of all the cities of the Realm, made to accommodate their large, winged friends. The mountain dragons were a big part of life here. They brought in fish, herbs that grew only in the mountains, errant cattle, anything of value to trade — for books, mostly. These dragons were avid readers. (Vek was especially proud of his copy of _The Mystical Path to the Golden Grimoire_.) They also participated in sports, dramatic plays, and politics. And they were very savvy debaters with a love of philosophy.

The children were especially fond of them for the stories they would tell, even more for the rides they would give them. And there was always a willing flier — with parents' permission, of course.

Donnova stopped to listen where a dragon was telling a story to a circle of children. His little listeners were captivated.

"Tiamat enraged, filled with an evil motion, said, 'Let us make monsters that they may go out and do battle, bearing weapons that spare not, charmed with the spells of ancient sorcery. Know that our years are the years of war, and our days are measured as battles.

"The monster heaved and raised its back, struck forth in five directions, spitted ancient words of Power, screamed the ancient incantations. . . ."*****

Donnova recognized it as one of many stories from a collection known as _The Trials of Tiamat_, a book Vek had given her.

Suddenly, a little red-haired girl with many freckles came running up, shouting to Vek, who immediately froze and cringed.

"Oh no . . . Helen," he whispered through stiff lips.

They let the girl catch up to them.

"Vek! Vek! My mum had the baby! It's a girl! I'm a big sister now!" she cried as she skipped and jumped at his side.

"Well, congratulations to your family! I suppose soon there'll be two hellions running around, brightening my day," he said with mock enthusiasm.

"Silly dragon. There can't be two Helens! I'm the only Helen. Her name is Angela," she informed him, not having caught the quip.

"Let us hope her name shall befit her behavior," Vek muttered.

Donnova chuckled.

"Who's your friend?" asked Helen, craning her neck to see the stranger on the other side of Vek. Helen smiled and waved.

"This is Donnova. She came to have her scales and claws polished to look nice for the lads," he told her.

"Yes, and I should probably have my fangs sharpened as well," Donnova added. "They've worn dull of late."

"People don't have scales and claws and fangs!" the girl chided.

"Well, maybe they should. Look, shouldn't you be in school, love?" Vek asked.

"School was over an hour ago, you silly dragon."

Vek's eyes widened. "Oh . . . yes. Dear me, is it that late already?" He looked accusingly at Donnova, who shrugged guiltily in return.

"Well, I have to go. I'm a big sister now, so I have a lot of responsibillies," she said proudly. "Bye, Vek! Bye, Donna!" the girl shouted, already running off.

Vek stopped to rub his temples. "And as soon as your mother is well on her feet again, I'll have one less '_responsibilly_'."

Donnova looked at him inquisitively. "You've been watching her?"

He nodded. "When needed."

"Surely she has other family who could take care of her."

"I volunteered, actually," he admitted.

She laughed. "Why?"

"Oh, you know, females like the responsible type. Thought I'd be clever and make an impression."

"Did you?"

"Oh, indeed!" he asserted. "That is, until the incident with the moss-crawlers."

Donnova lifted an eyebrow. "I won't ask."

"Best not to," Vek avowed.

They walked on, saying hellos to merchants and chatting with friendly faces. Donnova nibbled cake while Vek downed a few raw meat selections. All the while, Donnova was trying to think through decisions, weighing the pros and cons of what options she felt were left to her in life. As they came to the edge of the city, she made herself speak up.

"Vek?" she said.

The dragon gave her his full attention at the sound of her tone.

"The story circle we passed earlier reminded me of a story your grandfather once told me. The story of the Ancress who lived in the mountains. He said the solennial offering is still taken to her cave, though she's believed long passed from this Realm."

Vek nodded. "Yes. Even now, when the hatchlings come of age, they are taken to the Ancress' dwelling. It's more of a clan history lesson these days, rather than sanctification. None has seen her for many generations."

"Would you take me there?" She felt silly, asking such a thing, and she turned away, unable to look Vek in the eye.

Vek chuckled. "Seeking spiritual guidance, are you?"

"I don't know. Maybe," she answered noncommittally.

"Well, this is a side of you I never thought to see! A pilgrimage, eh?" They looked at each other then, and he quickly dropped the jest. "Of course I shall take you. It would be my pleasure."

* * *

*_From __The Necronomicon_


	20. Chapter 19 The Ancress

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**The Ancress**

Vek thought never to have Donnova on his back, riding him through the clouds. He had expected never to see her again, but he'd always hoped he would. He'd even thought of venturing out to look for her . . . just to see how she fared. She was a part of his clan, after all. When they knew each other before — seven years ago, if he wasn't mistaken — he was considered too young still to give a human a ride. But the years had changed him; he was mature now. And now, she'd finally come back to him.

He exulted over the weight of her on top of him as he pumped his wings and climbed higher in the sky. Courtesy had called for him to recommend a saddle for the trip, but he was secretly pleased that she had insisted on riding him bareback. He loved the feel of her thighs pressed so securely against him. He couldn't help but smile. He wanted to laugh aloud.

Too soon, they landed gently on the flat expanse before the sloping entrance of the mountain abode. Donnova slid from his back and checked the view.

Wind threw her long ebon hair in her lovely face, and she smoothed it back in place. "It's breathtaking! You can see the whole city from up here." She looked up, reached, and ran her hand through the bottom of a passing cloud. She took a step to keep up with it.

"Not too near the edge, love. Wind gusts can send you right over." Vek sat beside her, anchoring himself with his talons, and put an arm around her. Donnova leaned against him, and they were silent a moment.

Vek took the opportunity to discreetly fill his nostrils with her scent, taking the breath slow and deep. He remembered the first time he'd ever caught her scent. It had been his awakening to the other sex. For that awakening to have happened with a human female. . . . Well, growing up had been rather interesting, to say the least. He didn't know a single other of his kind who had allowed such a thing to happen to himself. Surely he wasn't alone in this, but he certainly seemed to be. And so, he'd never told another living soul.

He breathed her in again. There was only one thing missing — one thing that would make the fragrance even sweeter: a lust for him to match his for her. Oh, she had love for him, but its aroma was more like that a sister would have for a brother.

He suddenly realized the hand he had around her was caressing her! He moved it away and covered with conversation.

"I come up here sometimes and sit just where we are now, looking at the city below and wondering what the Ancress would think of us now — living together in harmony, laughing together, helping one another . . . loving each other." He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to just say that. He swallowed hard and continued, "Draakhaven is unique in all the Realm." But then he couldn't think of anything more to say.

"Mmm. If only she could see us now . . . up here, together. . . . This was what she lived for," she said, spreading her arms to gesture to the city below, "to bring man and dragon together in friendship."

_What about dragon and woman together in—_ He winced as he cursed himself for having such thoughts in this venerable place. "Yes," he agreed. The scent of her was getting to him.

"If only her message had spread throughout the Realm."

"Perhaps, one day. . . ." But he couldn't finish his double-edged thought in the current vein of the conversation. Best to shift the subject.

"Come." He rose and beckoned her, backed from the edge and turned around. At the cave's opening, he reached inside and took a mounted torch from an inner wall. He held one nostril shut and lit it from the other, shielding it from the wind with a wing. He passed it to Donnova, who was hesitant to take it.

"I'm not sure I understand, Vek."

"You will go inside, of course?"

Her look of amazement made him smile. How he wished he could take her by the hand and lead her within himself.

"I don't—"

"Go on," he urged. "It's perfectly all right. The Ancress was known for her hospitality. She never turned anyone away. I've been inside myself, when I was smaller. All the young ones go in for a good look around before we get too large to fit, and of course humans enter all the time. You must see our history in her painted murals on the walls. Magic paint, they say." He raised his eyebrows for effect.

"Magic paint?" she asked, raising an eyebrow of her own.

Vek nodded, enjoying the look on her face. She looked to the inside of the cave and then back to Vek. She removed her sword from its scabbard and passed it to him.

He took it casually enough, knowing she wouldn't care for him to make a show of it, but he felt like he was being presented with a holy relic. Naturally, he knew from whence it came. His rookery siblings had shown him a little more respect when they learned he was close friends with one who carried a Weapon of Power from The Dragons' Graveyard. Her celebrity for that, and for being a hand-picked Championness of the Realm by the Dungeon Master himself — brought from another world, even — had rubbed off a bit onto him. For a while, at least.

"I wish you could come in with me."

"So do I," he said, looking down, but then he put on a cheerier face. "But do take your time. I shall be here."

She smiled and nodded at him, and then went in. As soon as she was out of sight, he backed away and slumped along the rocky outer wall. Finally. . . . He needed a moment to collect himself. He took a deep breath of the clean mountain air, and his head began to clear, if only a little.

He looked at the sword and remembered the first time he'd held it. She had let him hold it years ago. He'd never felt so special. It was a moment he would cherish forever. He had seen her use the famous sword, too. She was amazing.

The memory took him back to that time. He hadn't wanted his new friend to go away. He'd never been so impressed with a human before. But then, she wasn't entirely human, and he supposed that was part of what appealed to him back then. She was so different. She didn't smell like the others, and she had that voice that could do things even his couldn't do — the story of which she had claimed to have never told any other but him. Everything about her had excited him and filled his young mind with wonder.

He also remembered, shamefully, how jealous he'd become when she'd speak to other young dragons. He hadn't wanted to share her with anyone. He didn't want to share her with anyone now.

And then a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if he'd involuntarily bonded with her? Dragons mate for life. What if he wouldn't be able to mate with a dragoness now? But that was ridiculous . . . right? Just because he hadn't yet successfully attracted the attention of one of his own kind didn't mean . . . did it? No, of course not. He was still too young to worry about such a thing.

An image of little Helen flashed in his mind and he sighed. "I really am a silly dragon, aren't I?" He regarded the sword in one hand and planted his chin in the other as smoke wafted up from his nose.

* * *

Donnova hadn't expected to venture inside. This was truly a treat. The long corridor from the entrance was fairly wide. The walls had been smoothed and arts and crafts of all kinds lined the way on both sides. Drawings and paintings were hung and statuettes and other objects were neatly niched. These were the displayed offerings from the children and fledglings of Draakhaven. It reminded her of the Shrine of Valmun in Zona.

Hadn't she dreamed of that place recently?

From the various representations, Donnova had a good idea of what the Ancress must have looked like. She was obviously quite short, like the Dungeon Master. She had long white hair, often braided or secured loosely in gold bands. She was most often portrayed wearing blue, but she could also be seen here in purple, gold, and green. Her skin was dark — but not as dark as Diana's, she thought — and paired best with the gold ensembles.

Diana was dead now, wasn't she? She pushed the thought from her mind.

She then came to the section of cave where the Ancress herself had been the artist. Her murals covered the walls. Overhead, the entire ceiling of this area depicted a Realm occupied only by dragons. Dragons of all sizes and colors — winged and wingless, horned and hornless, and even legless dragons. Dragons in the air, on the land, and in the seas. The artistry was divine. The colors were brilliant. She felt she could have studied the work for days, weeks, more, and still found something she'd never noticed before.

The wall to her left showed the coming of man. Wary dragons kept their distance. Curious dragons dared approach. High above all, a large red dragon watched, perched on a distant mountaintop. This red dragon had a place of prominence, and looked much like Tiamat, except this dragon had but one head.

Donnova moved slowly on down the wall. According to this, man struck first, killing dragons for food and sport, tools and fashion. They ate their meat, dressed in their skins, adorned themselves and their women with polished dragon scales and claws and teeth, made headdresses of dragon skulls. . . .

On the wall behind her . . . war. The red dragon that looked so much like Tiamat led the battle. The dragons attacked any way they could, but men were clever. They trapped the winged ones in hidden holes in the ground, lured them into narrow spaces so that their wings were useless. Other traps were set. Sea dragons were caught in nets.

But now Donnova came to a new sight. The red dragon now had five heads, and could do the work of a legion of dragons by herself. She slaughtered man wherever she found him. This was the Tiamat Donnova knew. And just like the old tales, Tiamat was able to strike in five directions with powers beyond any other of her kind.

When the war was over, if it could ever truly be, the lands were littered with bones and blood of both sides. Tiamat stood amongst the broken bodies of her kin, spread her great wings, and magically sent her dead — all the dead of her kind from all over the Realm and from throughout the ages — to The Dragons' Graveyard, where she would reside to guard the dead where they could not be disturbed by man.

Along another angle of wall was a different story, a gray mountain dragon and a male child came upon each other. The child was hurt and terrified. It ran; the dragon followed. The boy ran all the way back to a red dragon that lay dead on the ground, a spear through its neck. Beside it lay a dead woman who was likely the boy's mother. The dragon took the crying child and delivered it to the first humans he came upon. The mother's body was soon reclaimed, as well.

Afterwards, a friendship had begun between the dragon and the family of humans. That friendship extended on both sides until it came to the attention of the dragon queen. For being traitors to their kind, the gray dragons of the mountains were banished from entering The Dragons' Graveyard to die. It was a difficult punishment to bear for several reasons. Even so, these dragons never renounced Tiamat as their queen. They accepted their punishment.

In sympathy, their human friends then altered the beginnings of their new city so that they could properly welcome and include their dragon friends as part of their lives in earnest. They shared their death ritual of burial, and the dragons adopted this, burying their dead under rocks in or around mountains. The ways of life for both were changed and each benefited from their coming together. And there had been peace and harmony between them ever since.

But where was the Ancress in all this? Was she so modest that she did not give herself her place of importance in this history? All Donnova could find was a depiction of the sloping entrance to her cave dwelling in the mountains. This was along the floor, and something about it seemed odd.

Donnova reached down to touch the painted opening, and her fingers disappeared through it. She jerked her hand back, reflexively.

She crouched and tried to peer inside, but there was only blackness. She eased the torch through, but the firelight was consumed and she was left in darkness. She pulled her torch back. It was still lit; it hadn't gone out.

_Magic paint?_ But what did it hide?

Curiosity overrode all else. She crawled through and was immediately on her guard. There were lit torches along the walls of this room, which was very like the room she had come from. She looked around. She knew she couldn't be alone, but she saw and heard nothing. Who would be here other than ones from the city below?

With so much light here, she no longer needed the torch. And there just happened to be an empty bracket where she stood. She mounted her torch and looked around.

Her attention was drawn to the new murals surrounding her. Here again the war between dragon and man was depicted. But here was shown that Evil had transformed Tiamat, and in seeming response to this, the side of Good had sent its own agent. Haloed in a golden glow stood a man in red robes, wearing a crystal pendant about his neck. This was obviously the Dungeon Master, but he did not look much like the one Donnova knew. He stood between dragon and man. It seemed he brought about the end of the war, if only by preventing further battles.

It seemed the Dungeon Master tried to bring both sides together in peace, but Tiamat rejected him and tried to kill this emissary of man. She failed, and it was then she took herself and her dead away to her graveyard.

Another mural depicted a Dungeon Master that could have been the one known to her, but far younger. He was with a beautiful, blond-haired woman who held an infant. He held one, too, but in more of a way of presenting this child to the world. Was the role of Dungeon Master passed down from father to son? Where were his wife and children now?

Tiamat looked on in the background, looking murderous as ever.

"Welcome, child."

Donnova whirled around at the voice and gasped. Whom she saw could only be the Ancress herself.

"Don't be afraid," the small lady said with a good-natured smile.

She took a moment to catch her breath. "It is not fear, but surprise at your appearance. You're the Ancress, aren't you?"

"I was . . . once. In another age."

"It is believed you are. . . ."

"Dead?"

Donnova's silence answered for her.

The old one brought her hands together before her, bowed her head and stepped forward. "Not dead, but exiled by Venger long ago. And brought from that exile by ones you know."

Donnova thought she must be referring to Hank's group. She thought of Sheila, and then tried not to think of any of them.

"They should know. The people of Draakhaven, I mean. They should know you're here, alive, returned. Not all believe you dead. Some believe you simply . . . moved on . . . to help others. Many believe you would one day return to them. There will be such joy in the streets when you—"

The Ancress held up her hands. "They no longer need me." Then she laughed sweetly. "I doubt they ever did," she said as though she believed all would have been just the same had they never known of her.

"Perhaps not here, but elsewhere in the Realm. There's more to be done! There are dragon hunters that—" Donnova stopped herself when she heard her own voice rising. One breed of murderer she could not tolerate was the dragon hunter.

"My destiny lies along another path, child. It has been so long since I was known as the Ancress. My name is Zandora, and you, I'm told, are Donnova."

The name was familiar. Donnova eyed her. "_Who_ told you?"

"I did."

An inferno ignited in her mind at the sound of Dungeon Master's voice, and she glared at him as he made his way toward them from out of nowhere. "You defile this good lady's home, Dungeon Master."

"Dungeon Master is my friend," said Zandora. "And he would like to be yours."

"His friendship is a poisonous thing. A deadly thing!" She turned to Dungeon Master. "Know you that Diana is dead?"

"She has passed from this life, but now knows another—"

"Oh spare me! She is dead! And for what? You lied to us all! There was no prisoner within the tower!"

"But there was."

She shook her head. "I saw no one."

Zandora looked to the Dungeon Master, and he back at her. Donnova looked to them both, wondering if they spoke to each other with thoughts.

And then Donnova took sudden stock of her situation. Here she was in the presence of not only the Dungeon Master, but also the legendary Ancress. The old weariness hit her like a tidal wave, putting out the fire of a moment ago. This meeting wasn't chance. She was right where Fate wanted her to be. The illusion of Free Will dissolved yet again. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but she found she was too numb to do either.

"What is this?" She heard the defeat in her voice. "What do you want of me?" She felt tears pooling in her eyes and fought not to let them fall. "I failed you at the tower. Will you now punish me?"

Dungeon Master shook his head. "No. No," he said quietly as he bowed his head. "I ask your forgiveness. _I_ failed _you_. I failed you all. You were unprepared. I did not give you all you needed to succeed. I did not give you . . . the truth. I failed . . . to trust." He looked up, and Donnova followed his tear-filled eyes to the mural of his family.

She looked to Zandora, who was weeping as she also looked to the mural of Dungeon Master and his children. Both were silent, and it was maddening. What was going on? What was she supposed to do? What was her place here?

"What _is_ the truth? What happened to them?" Neither was forthcoming. "It was Venger, wasn't it? Venger killed your family."

"No," Dungeon Master answered quietly with another shake of his head.

This was getting tiresome. "_What_ then?" She was running out of patience.

"She must be shown the truth," Zandora told Dungeon Master.

Dungeon Master closed his eyes and nodded.

Donnova's eyes widened when Zandora raised a glowing hand, and from a dark corner of the room, a box slid quickly across the floor. It spun around and came to a stop beneath the vibrant young Dungeon Master who held his child. The box opened.

That's why the name was familiar! She remembered Sheila's story of Zandora and her magic box. She couldn't think of any way the memory could help her now, but she was glad to place the name.

Zandora walked toward her box. Donnova looked to Dungeon Master, but it was obvious he wouldn't be joining them. She followed Zandora.

The elder gestured to the open box. "This box is a magical gateway," she began.

"I know of your magic box, Zandora. Where will this take me?"

"Within the crystal prison. Wherever in the Realm it may be, it can be found through this special portal here, and only here. I'm sorry I cannot go with you, child."

"But what—"

"You must understand what you are meant to do — your purpose here. And know that there is power in friendship and in love—"

"There is also power in hatred and fear."

"Yes, but with friendship comes trust and loyalty and forgiveness."

"Oh, I see. . . . It's not my friendship the Dungeon Master needs. It's my unquestioning obedience." And Donnova had wanted to like the old lady, but she saw that Zandora was just a puppet of Dungeon Master's. She would spare Vek and the others this sad knowledge. "Very well. I will see this _truth_. But it is understood . . . I make no promises."

Zandora smiled and nodded. It was more like a small bow. Donnova looked once more to the Dungeon Master. He was looking at her, too, and his expression disturbed her. A mix of sadness and fear? She wondered what it was she would find within the box.

She stepped inside and went down the stairs. A few steps down, she looked back. The lid was still open. She'd half expected to have been trapped in here — some cruel trick to get rid of her. They could still lock her away, but why would they? They had come to her. She had nearly made up her mind to stay in Draakhaven. She still may.

As she continued down the steps, she felt lighter, and lighter still, until she felt she floated. A small light was growing. She was moving towards it, like a moth to a flame. Drawn to it, she allowed herself to float through nothingness, unthinkingly, dreamlike. At last, she passed within the light, and things took shape around her.


	21. Chapter 20 Inception

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**Inception**

"Mother? ... Mother? ... Kareena?"

Where were they? They should have been there.

I had already checked the main room, the kitchen, and the back garden. I went next to Kareena's room upstairs. What I found there, or rather, _didn't_ find there unnerved me. Her room was empty. Everything was gone. What had happened?

I heard the front door open and ran down to see.

"Father! Father, where are Mother and Kareena? Kareena's room is empty!"

When he didn't immediately look at me, I knew something was very wrong.

"They are gone," he told me.

I paled at these words, at the way he spoke them. His eyes told me he had known of this, or had expected it. For how long, I could not tell. His voice revealed a sadness. But it was his staunch composure which spoke the worst of it: this was a situation that would stand. They were not coming back.

I could feel my face flushing.

"What do you mean '_they_ are gone?' Where are they?" I demanded.

"It is for the best."

"Where!"

"I will not speak of this until you have calmed yourself."

"And I will not be calm until I have answers!"

He just stood there, looking at me.

"This is Kareena's punishment for her misbehavior, isn't it? You've sent her away, haven't you? Or Mother's taken her somewhere," I said, trying to reason it.

"Both your mother and Kareena will live elsewhere until your sister can learn discipline and respect. This was not my decision alone. Your mother and I have had our discussions and are resolved."

And so it was. Perhaps it was for the best after all. The new attentions I received from my father in my education for the role I would one day fulfill had driven a wedge between me and my twin. She was excluded from this. My sister felt that she had just as much birthright as I to my destiny, to one day become Dungeon Master.

We shared our mother's womb, but I emerged first. The foreordination was mine alone. Why could she not accept this?

Her jealousy had led her to mischief and misdeeds at my expense. As much as it frustrated me, and our parents, I understood her feelings and tried to be patient. I would make time to spend with her as a brother and as a friend. For that time only, she would seem happy. Afterwards, she would quickly become bitter once more.

Stolen texts, broken items, mad rages — this is what finally earned her, and thus our mother, this seeming exile.

Eventually, my father did tell me where they were. I was allowed to write to my mother. I always sealed my letters with the ring she had given me at birth, the magical Ring of the Mind. To my sister she had given the Ring of the Heart. My ring was my most cherished memento of my mother. I would find myself turning it on my finger those times I would miss her and become possessed by childhood memories.

The letters I would receive from Mother were mostly superficial, but still full of love and longing for old times. Of Kareena she wrote almost nothing. If she had misgivings, she did not express them to me, and I never expected her to. I knew she would not convey anything that would possibly upset or worry me. I tried to glean insights from her words, but she was too careful. Perhaps all was well. She'd written that my father had made the best arrangements for them. They were comfortable and wanted for nothing.

One day, as I walked home after receiving a new letter from her, I had the peculiar feeling that I was being followed. There were people all about, but they all seemed to be tending to their own business and uninterested in me. All the same, I changed direction and followed a different route toward home.

Still I felt the odd presence. Finally, I was compelled to stop and call out.

"Is someone there? Show yourself."

The peculiar feeling grew, became ominous. I looked in all directions, but saw no one.

"Here," said no one.

"Where?"

There was movement on the ground. I turned and looked down to see the shadow of my arms extend as I remained still.

"I am here."

The whole of it reformed as it rose from the ground. The hands grew claws, the legs disappeared, wings took shape, and white eyes brightened and sharpened.

A shadow demon! I had read of these unwholesome Dark spirits.

"I bring foreboding news of your twin sister, Kareena," it said.

"Away from me, demon! I do not take company with the likes of you! I will not hear your lies."

"Do not dismiss me so quickly. Your sister aligns herself with Evil, she works to gain the favor of The Master, of He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken. She plans to rid the Realm of you and your father, the Dungeon Master. You would be wise to heed me, young one."

"Kareena would never do real harm."

"Would she not? She is changed. She is not the innocent you once knew. She will destroy you! She plots your downfall even as we speak!"

"My mother would never allow this! If such things were true, she would have warned us herself. You do not tempt me, demon. Now be gone!" I walked away, wanting nothing more to do with this fiend.

"You have her warning, Son of Dungeon Master," it called from behind me. "Know that it was the last thing she ever wrote."

_The last thing?_

I spun to confront the shadow, but it had gone. I quickly opened the letter and noticed immediately my mother's hurried hand.

Indeed, it was a warning. My mother wrote that Kareena would mysteriously go missing for short periods of time. And when she was home, she kept herself locked in her room. She wrote also of perversions about the house and in her garden. Odd smells, sudden cold, the feeling she was being watched or touched. Such a contrast to her past letters, to those written to me before.

I checked again the name on the letter. I saw that it was not addressed to me, but to my father. But I knew my name had been there when it was handed me!

There was fear here in this letter — fear for herself, for me, indeed she feared for the whole Realm! I had to go to her. Perhaps the shadow demon spoke falsely and my mother yet lived.

I determined not to say anything to my father, at least not yet. I would see to this myself. I thought if I could see Kareena, talk with her like we used to, maybe I could determine for myself what she meant by her actions.

And so I went, leaving my father the poor excuse in a note that I felt the need to meditate alone and would be back in a few days.

It was late night when I arrived. I was forced to leave my unicorn well away from the house. No amount of coaxing would make him go any farther, and I understood why. I felt, as he must have, the sinister aura about the place. The bright moonlight and the large trees that had lost their leaves out of season only enhanced this feeling. Gusts of wind, both hot and cold, buffeted my face. To say that this did not bode well was an understatement.

As I placed my foot on the first step leading to the door, I stopped. My heart was suddenly racing. I feared to breathe. Slowly, I turned my head. Far away, a winged figure stood, unmoving, facing me. I knew who this was, and was at once filled with dread. I moved to face this dark figure which I could sense was my twin.

A blast of cold air hit my face, forcing me to blink. When I opened my eyes, Kareena's face, framed in red, was right before mine. I was so startled I fell backwards, but I did not stay down long. Kareena lifted me by my wrist, as easily as a child could lift a doll. A sharp pain shot through my arm and back. I could do nothing to prevent her taking my ring from my finger. She used such forced that I thought she meant to take my finger with it! She then tossed me aside like so much rubbish.

"You've saved me a lot of trouble, Brother. I did not expect it to be this easy. I imagined I'd have to fight my way to you and Father. And where is he? Surely you did not come here all alone," she said in a condescending tone.

"What have you done? Where is Mother!"

"Oh, don't worry. You'll soon be joining that meddlesome woman!"

The wings broadened as she thrust out her hand. Red energies coruscated from her ring. I moved just in time to avoid a scorching ray. Another blast barely missed my face. My cheek burned from its heat. Her ring appeared to be the source of her power, but there was no chance of taking it from her.

"Stop this! This isn't the way! Please, Kareena, let me take you home!" I begged her.

"Yes, I _will_ go home. He thought he was rid of me. I'll show him. I'll show you all! My power is greater! _I_ will rule this Realm!" She laughed — a depraved cackle.

How could this be my sister? She was mad with power. My only hope was in escape, if that were possible. I jumped up and ran, it was the only course I had.

She laughed more at this. "Run, Brother, as fast as you can! It will do you no good! You are nothing compared to me now! Nothing!" she screeched behind me.

But then she appeared at my side, zapping at my feet. She was toying with me! I ran for the trees.

"Quickly! This way!"

I heard his loud whisper, but didn't see him until he moved. It was the shadow demon again.

"The shadows! Hurry!" he called.

I followed him and we vanished. Together we were swallowed by the shadow of a large tree. We watched as Kareena blasted her way through the forest in search of me. She passed by us, and the fires that sprang up in her wake redefined the shadows. We were forced to move as each new fire threatened to reveal us. The shadow demon pulled me out of the forest, using the new shadows as though they were stepping stones, and we made good our escape. I heard Kareena's enraged screams behind us.

My mount had undoubtedly fled, for I saw no sign of it, so I ran until I could run no more. I finally collapsed in a field clutching my burning chest and gasping for air. The shadow demon hovered over me and spoke quickly.

"You have no hope of defeating her. She will kill you as she desires. Your end is near, young one, unless you do as I say!"

"Silence, fiend!"

The glowing eyes narrowed. "This is how you show your gratitude? I saved your life."

"And I must try to save hers. I must go to my father, he will know what to do," I rasped between breaths.

"You are a fool, as is your father! He cannot help her."

"What would you have me do!"

"The only thing left to you — invoke the Master!"

_Invoke the Master. . . . Did he actually mean . . . ?_

"No! Even if I wished to do such a thing, Kareena's power comes from her ring and she has taken mine!"

"No matter! Your very being will be the vessel of even greater power! You shall be a force unto yourself! Power that cannot be taken away as hers can." Such heated excitement in his voice.

"Why should your master favor me over one who already serves him?" I asked as I forced myself to stand on unsteady legs.

"Kareena already abuses her power. She is obstinate. She displeases the Master."

"_You_ displease _me_! Leave me!"

He visibly seethed at my command. His tail lashed fiercely about and his eyes narrowed to slanted slits of light.

"As you wish," he said. And he was gone, having evanesced into the night. Had I blinked, I would have missed his departure.

I was alone then, and I didn't like the feeling. I never had. And I had never known loneliness until my dear twin sister was sent away from me. Dwelling on it had a tendency to drain me in the past, but she was not quite so dear to me at the moment. I did not hesitate to send magical summons to magical ear to call my steed and ride fast for home.

As strong as my dislike for loneliness was my dislike for the disquiet that welcomed me upon my return. It was morning in my city, a busy hour, but it was business of another nature that I read in the faces of the scholars and sages hurrying in and out of the Temple of Order.

As I ascended the temple's steps, a young novitiate ran into me. He had been hurriedly paging through the book on top of the stack he carried and not minding his path. I caught the precious tomes before they could fall; I knew a few of these would not have survived a tumble. I gave him a stern look.

Wide-eyed, he quickly came to his senses. Profuse apologies coupled with deep bows nearly caused him to lose his balance again. When I grabbed his arm to steady him, I could swear his heart stopped. I thought he would faint right there before me.

"Steady," I said in my most soothing tone. "You carry quite a burden. You take these to my father?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, My Lord. I do," he stammered.

"I was on my way to him as well. Why not let me help you?" I smiled as pleasantly as I could manage to try to settle him. One so prone to nervousness should never have been given such a task. I wondered at the present state of our libraries.

I took the oldest texts into my care lest they should never arrive intact at my father's chambers. I made quick note of their titles as I gathered them. Judging by these, one might think Eschaton approached!

"Come then, we should not delay," I said. He nodded amply and we entered the temple.

I allowed him to precede me into the adytum. We lay the books on the table closest to where Father was working. My young companion was unsure whether or not he should wait for dismissal, and my father's attention was elsewhere. Seeing this, I tapped the young man's shoulder — he jumped as if I had prodded him with a bolt of lightning — and threw a glance and a nod toward the door. He quickly bowed and left, easing the door shut in front of him as he backed away.

I turned then to address my father, but something caught my eye, causing me to momentarily forget myself. A man in a hooded robe of dark maroon stood perfectly still in a corner of the room. Now, I was beginning to feel as anxious as our nervous novitiate. I was sure this was a monk of the Order of The Chronicle, Keepers of The Never-Ending Scroll and Possessors of The Mind's Eye. They were clairvoyants who recorded the Realm's history on a magical scroll that never failed to have more room for their writings. And such was the power of The Mind's Eye, which allowed them to see everything of significance that happened in the entire Realm, that they never ventured from their sanctuary. Or so I thought. But I remembered then that my father had told me that one had come to witness the birth of me and Kareena.

"Father?" I began, my eyes still on the monk.

"Some things can only be witnessed with one's own eyes, my son," he answered before I could ask the question. "Do not heed him. Now, I am glad to see that you have returned safely from your . . . _meditation_."

I had expected his scornful tone. I never could effectively lie to him. "Punish me later if you like, but you must listen to me now! We have to save Kareena!"

He looked at me and half sighed. It was more like he had been holding his breath. I had the feeling that he had nothing hopeful to impart.

"There is nothing any of us can do to save her now," a kindly feminine voice spoke from behind me.

"Lady Zandora," I acknowledged with a slightly impatient, but not discourteous, bow. "You will forgive me, Lady Zandora, but Father, I must hear this from you."

It was obvious he was deeply troubled, but he said nothing.

I fought to control the anger welling up inside me. "If you both are so certain in this, then what is this work you do? What are these chests you toil over?"

My father finally spoke. In a controlled and even tone, he replied, "One is the Box of Balefire, the instrument of summoning He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken. The other is the Box of Purefire, the one of banishing."

The Boxes of Balefire and Purefire. I had heard a whisper of them, but I never thought to lay eyes upon them. I stood there, staring at these simple-looking things, dumbfounded, and further realized the direness of this crisis.

"He enters the Realm?" I asked, hearing the trepidation in my own voice. My mind was racing, I didn't fully understand what this could mean. And why was the Box of Balefire here beside?

"Why should both be here? Surely you mean to destroy the Box of Balefire," I said.

"That cannot be done," my father said.

"But—"

"There is no time to explain such things."

He went on with his work, making me feel like a troublesome child, but I wanted answers!

"If He could be banished . . . should it not break His hold on Kareena?" I dared to ask.

"The Unspoken's hold reaches beyond what I can control, even with Zandora's aid. Now, you must go, my son. Stay within the temple or go home, but your safety is paramount."

I couldn't believe he was sending me away at such a time! Surely there was something I could do. I had confronted Kareena already. I would see this through!

"No!" I told him. "I will not go! You cannot expect me—"

"Go!"

I straightened and eyed him with contempt, but leave I did. I left the Temple of Order and walked aimlessly about the city. He had shut me out, just as he had before. Perhaps I would have been underfoot, but I hated being excluded from this. I felt I was involved too much to turn away even if I wanted to. Who was he to tell me to leave?

Inwardly, I sighed. He was my father, the Dungeon Master.

"_My _safety," I said aloud, "What of _theirs_, my mother's and my sister's? Where were you _then_?"

I stopped and leaned against a wall where no one should bother me. I shut my eyes to the world. I needed to collect myself. I needed to think in peace. I needed rest. But there was time for none of this!

"Troubled, young master?"

The shadow demon once again. Vexatious pest!

"Go away. Leave me be," I pleaded.

"Not this time. You've run out of options, save one. Now you must hurry lest the work of the Dungeon Master and his sorceress is soon successful."

I eyed him with the same contempt I had just shown my father. "How do you know of their work?" I demanded.

"Shadows know," was all he said.

I sighed, disgusted with him. I wanted no more of his bedevilment. I let my head fall back. I wanted nothing more than to bathe and to sleep, to dream of my mother and my sister in happier times — all of us home with no troubles. I wanted the world to stop and let me catch up to it in my own time.

It was infuriating being forced to stand idly by and do nothing but watch events happen as they might. But what could I do? I was not the Dungeon Master. I was no sorcerer. I felt small and unutterably alone. Helpless and numb, there was no faith left in my being.

"My father told me Good would always prevail against Evil," I said, more to myself than to him.

The shadow demon shook his head at me, pityingly. "Ah, such a failed axiom," he said. "Tell me, did Good prevail when husband expelled wife and child? Did Good prevail when daughter slew mother? And will Good have prevailed when sister slays brother?"

I looked up at him, compelled to listen as he continued.

"It began with your father. The Dungeon Master governs the Realm with a compassion he has never shown for his own family. He has dishonored you all. The Scion must now rise and take control, or risk losing his birthright — this Realm. My Master will give you the means to accomplish all you desire.

"The choice is yours, Son of Dungeon Master."

I found nothing in my heart to counter any of this. I did blame my father for the ruination of our family. I did feel he had dishonored us. He divided our family when he should have involved us all in resolution. We should have worked through our problems together. Why hadn't he tried? Why wasn't I given the chance to . . .?

My mother was dead! Damn him! This _was_ all his fault!

None of his teachings prepared me to battle such as what my sister had now become. I could not allow my fate to be decided by them, nor by anyone. I wanted the power to command my own destiny!

Rage burned within me. I didn't fight against it; I let it consume me. As if it were a palpable force, I let it empower me. My fists clenched at my sides. I hardened myself. I made my choice.

"What must I do?"

The shadow demon floated gently down to me. For once, I was not looking up to see his face.

"Come," he said, laying a dark hand on my shoulder. "You must prepare yourself. Cleanse the way. . . ."


End file.
